Protector of Life
by EstelWolfe
Summary: Jack and crew find themselves facing not only other pirates in search of treasure, but an ancient Mayan power with an agenda of its own.
1. Prologue: To Accept a Cage

Disclaimer:  A member of the rodentia class owns them.  I merely commandeer them for a while, promising to return them relatively recognizable.

AN:  This could fit after "Trust Me Still" but before "To Love and Protect", for those of you who have read those, but it shouldn't be necessary to have read either to enjoy this story.  This prologue doesn't have canon characters, but they shall make an appearance in Chapter 1, which I shall post ASAP, promise.

**Protector of Life**

**Prologue**

**Tulum on the Yucatan Peninsula**

**1549**

"My lady . . .Great Mother . . .help me . . .do not . . .forsake me . . ."  The man staggered and fell, lying winded on the forest floor.  He could no longer hear his pursuers, but their strange weapons had already left their mark upon his body.  Trembling fingers reached up and grasped the golden idol that hung from a chain about his neck, smearing the mouth of the statue with blood.  Was it sustenance that she required?  What more had he to give?

The quality of the light suddenly changed around him, not so much brightening as becoming all-pervasive, driving every hint of shadow away.  In this divine light he could finally see his _balam_, his usually-invisible protector, but the great cat seemed hardly in better shape than he was, the spotted fur matted and blood-streaked, the ears torn.  What forces had rocked the creature as it attempted to fulfill its task, to protect himself and the other members of the hunting party?  What evils did the white man bring that could harm this creature of the gods?

"Oh, my child, my child . . .what ill has befallen our already fallen people . . ."

He smiled despite the pain, turning clumsily and attempting to rise and show proper respect.  His feet seemed unable to accomplish the task, so instead he knelt with head bowed low to the ground, the blood dripping from his chest beating a staccato, even tempo on the leaf litter.  "Alaghom Naom, Great Mother . . .my protector . . .I need . . .your aid . . ."

Hands too gentle and perfect to be of this world lifted his chin, danced lightly across the wounds on his chest and arms, before pulling away.  "I cannot do what you require, child."

Each breath was becoming harder and harder to draw.  Even the _balam_ seemed to grow weaker, the creature now stretched out and panting heavily, dark eyes too intelligent to belong to any beast beseeching the goddess for aid.

"I need . . .you.  Why do you . . .deny me . . ."  She had always been his patron, ever since the old priest had taught him how to harness his own latent talents and call the gods to him.  Why would she deny one that had always been a faithful follower?  What had he done to fall out of her grace?

"My time, the time of my brothers and sisters, is fast passing away.  Already our people were weak, divided and slaughtering each other, and now the white man conquers all in his path.  Sustenance and prayer both are missing, our connection to your world growing thin.  No longer are we permitted to interfere as once we did.  I cannot heal your body, child, and I cannot make them pass you by, but I will stay with you, if you wish, until your time has come."

The mournful cry from the _balam_ articulated the grief he felt far better than any human tongue could have.

"How can . . .this be?  You still . . .part the veils . . .of the world.  You . . .showed me . . .my wife, my child . . .you are still . . .my protector . . .I give you . . .my blood . . ."  As if to emphasize the point, a harsh cough brought blood into his mouth instead of air.

"To part the veils is my gift, as a creator, a mother, to the world.  I showed you what was needed to heal your heart."

"I walked . . .in another . . .place . . ."  Each breath now brought the blood with it.

"You walked across the veil."

The man nodded, raising his eyes to look at his goddess, at her visage that seemed both young and old.  Alaghom Naom turned her face to the sky, placing her hands together and closing her eyes.  When she once again looked down at him, he averted his gaze, the knowledge and power that shone towards him more than he could bear to watch.

"Would you walk across the veil again, child?  Even if the world you entered was one that you did not know?"

"I would."  He would do anything she asked, take any path she found for him.  She was his protector.

Again the gentle hands reached for his face, but this time there was no comfort to be found as she lifted the amulet from about his neck.  She turned now to the _balam_.  Usually calm and loving in her presence, the great creature instead snarled and backed away.

"I know, my little one.  A cage is not the fate you ever foresaw.  You are weakened, though, just as I am, more so than I am.  You bleed.  Your great strength and speed could not do what you have always done.  You could not protect them, but through this you can.  I will show you how to lift the veils.  Trust me, little one.  Trust me."

The goddess waited patiently as the _balam_ growled low in its throat.

"You will be free when the amulet is gone, granted a special place by my side.  The amulet shall not last long with the white man's greed for gold."

Finally the _balam_ moved forward, head hung low and tail twitching.

"Thank you, child."

As amulet and _balam_ touched, the form of the great cat grew hazy, seeming to be drawn into the golden idol.  With a final howl that sent shivers down the man's spine, the creature was gone.

Alaghom Naom stood with the amulet in hand, speaking too softly for the man to hear.  When finally she turned back to him, he saw with dismay that the youth had faded from her face.  How could a goddess look exhausted?

"You will accept the gift of your protectors?  You will accept life, no matter how we win it for you?"

"I . . .will."

He could do little more than watch with a strange combination of both hope and fear as the chain was lowered around his neck.  For a moment he had a glimpse of the amulet as it dangled in front of his face, and it was no longer simply a depiction of his goddess.  Instead it was a woman with a jaguar head, her right hand extended, offering water, her left clasping a hul-che and arrow, prepared to drive off enemies.

Then the amulet touched his chest, and both the pain and the world faded to nothing.


	2. Chapter 1: Young, Possibly Stupid

Disclaimer:  I own two Johnny Depp movies now.  Given I only own a total of seven movies, this is a large percentage.  Other than that, I own nothing.

AN:  I know this chapter is short, but things are crazy in RL at the moment, and I don't know when I'll be able to finish the next scene for this or the next chapter for MBK.  I'll do my best, though.  Hope you enjoy.  Translations of Spanish are at the end (and yes, I realize two of the n's are missing accent markings, but I can't for the life of me get a format that makes them work, so . . .they are simply MIA).

**Protector of Life**

**Part 1**

**San Martin, Isle de Cozumel, off the Yucatan Peninsula**

Jack kept his posture carefully relaxed and neutral, his feet on the table, mug in hand.  Still, anyone catching a glimpse of his dark eyes would know it was only a feigned disinterest that he showed in the scene unfolding before him.

News of a Spanish galleon running aground on a reef had been trickling steadily through the sailing community, but this was the first time he had heard anything about survivors.

The young man was definitely Spanish.  He was also far past the point of drunk, and had been rambling out his tale in a mixture of Spanish and English since the second mug of grog had been placed in front of him.  The man who had been paying for the drinks as he questioned the youth was unknown to Jack, a sandy-haired sailor who had been referred to by someone as Captain Starke over the course of the evening.

"Come on, whelp, keep talkin'.  You were almost at the good part.  Where did you stash the gold you salvaged?"

Jack restrained himself from making any outward show of contempt.  Maybe Starke had missed it in the young man's language changes, but there was obviously something about what had happened that scared the boy more than anything Starke could pull out of his sleeve.

Starke apparently wasn't impressed by the lack of answers forthcoming from the young Spaniard.  "Chico!  You suddenly gone deaf, boy?  You said you know where the ship is and where the treasure ended up."

"Just leave me in peace."  The boy didn't look up from his current drink as he mumbled his answer, the English, nearly perfect when the lad had begun his disjointed rambling earlier in the evening, now marred by a heavy accent.

"Oh, no you don't, boy.  You've been talkin' up a storm since you got here.  If you were really there, then tell us where the gold is."

"No!  No no no _no_!  Tonto, no has entenido lo que he dicho?  Es condenado!  El diablo, los malditos y los muertos son los duenos ahoras."  The young man half-stood as he spoke, swaying slightly.

A backhanded slap from Starke sent the youth sprawling back into his seat, where he reached up to feel gingerly at a split lip.

"Keep a civil tongue in your mouth, boy."  Any hint of conviviality had disappeared from Starke's manner as he towered over the younger sailor.  Jack straightened slightly, lowering his feet to the floor.

It would do no one any good if Starke killed the lad now.

The young man stared at the blood on his fingertips before raising his eyes to meet Starke's.  "That was a civil tongue.  Éste es territorio espanol."

Apparently the boy had yet to develop a decent survival instinct.  While it was true that the Spanish controlled both the Yucatan Peninsula and the islands flanking it, as a port town that saw little difference between customers so long as they had something to barter with, San Martin had a habit of attracting more than just the Spanish.  In taverns like this one, very near the docks, simply relying on the fact that it was Spanish territory was a dangerous proposition.

Starke smiled thinly as he grabbed the young man's tattered white shirt, hauling him to his feet.  "You owe me a location, boy.  If you give it to me, I might decide to let you live."

The young man seemed to consider for a moment before shaking his head, a smile of his own playing over his lips.  "No."

"No?"  Starke paused for a moment to look around, apparently a prearranged signal as it brought two sailors, both of whom easily dwarfed Jack in both height and weight, to his side.

The first blow sent the boy careening to the ground, and Jack winced in sympathy.  It was quite possible the young man had just lost a tooth.

"Hey, mate, is that really necessary?"  Jack yelled the question, continuing to act as disinterested in the particulars as was possible under the circumstances.  He'd really rather not openly interfere unless it was essential to the lad's survival; while he knew that at least a few members of the _Pearl_'s crew were in the tavern, exactly how willing and how able they would be to back their captain was anybody's guess.

Starke paused, turning from the young man who was just starting to work his wobbly way back to his feet to scan the crowd, his eyes finally finding Jack's.  "What concern is it of yours?"

"Well, I suppose you'd say it's not really much of my concern if you want to beat the boy to death.  It just seems like a bit of a waste to both of us if he doesn't finish his story first.  It was very intriguing, wouldn't you say?"  Jack stood as he spoke, mug still in hand, and cut a meandering path around the table that Starke and the lad had occupied not long ago, ending up behind the young man.

"How much did you hear?"  Starke's voice was a low growl as he eyed Jack, a sneer of disdain twisting his face as he apparently found what he saw somewhat lacking.

"Enough to know I want to hear the rest."  Jack finally set his drink down as the two sailors with Starke looked enquiringly at their captain, apparently waiting for a command.

The drone of background conversation in the immediate vicinity began to drop away as people realized what was happening.  While fights were hardly uncommon, it _was _uncommon for two captains to be fighting over a young man that didn't belong to either crew.

"The boy's my problem.  I found him first, I found the story, and I'm going to get the gold, if I have to beat it out of the lad."  Starke impaled the young man with his glare.

The lad, for his part, was being very silent, eyes darting between Jack and Starke.

"You could try that, I suppose.  Might even work.  Then again, the way the boy's been talkin', I'd say he saw something a bit worse than death out there.  He might even welcome death as a better alternative then going back t' whatever he left."  Jack studied the young man as he spoke, keeping Starke and his companions in his peripheral view.

Starke laughed.  "Prefer death over finding a bit of gold?  He's just being a superstitious fool.  There's no such thing as a curse."

Jack smiled himself.  "No, of course there's no such thing as curses.  But the boy obviously believes it, and I know I'd prefer dying to being cursed, especially if I had already escaped the curse once."

"This is pointless.  Just stay out of the way, whoever you are."  A brief flutter of his hand signaled the two sailors to move forward.

"It's Captain Jack Sparrow, and I'm afraid I can't do that."  Jack moved in front of the young man, scanning the crowd of faces around him.  Surely _someone_ from his crew was intelligent enough and still sober enough to see what was happening.

He ducked the first punch thrown at him, returning with an uppercut of his own that seemed to do little more than anger the brute facing him.  Twisting sharply kept the first punch thrown by the second sailor from connecting with his head, but he would have a sore shoulder for at least a week.  Drawing a blade was out of the question; when fists became a free-for-all, it was fine, but multiple swords flying in very close quarters were not a good idea.  

This left Jack at a decided disadvantage, and the boy he was protecting seemed able to do little more than stand and stare wide-eyed at the mayhem that he had created.

"Need a hand there, cap'n?"

Jack grinned at Gibbs as the older man entered the fight, evening out the odds a bit.  "I'd appreciate it, aye.  Was beginning to think I was the only one still somewhat sober."

Gibbs laughed.  "You are, though I doubt anyone could tell, th' way you act."

Any rebuttal Jack was going to make died as he glanced towards where Starke had been standing and found the space conspicuously empty.  Spinning around, he saw exactly the situation he had been trying to avoid: the lad kneeling on the floor while Starke, one hand wrapped in his hair to pull his head back, held a knife to his throat.

"Where's the gold, boy?"

Jack didn't think the young man's eyes could get any wider than they already were as he attempted to stare down at the knife.  Still the boy shook his head, though minutely, striving to avoid cutting himself.  Before Jack could take a step in his direction to help him, a vicious blow caught the side of his head and strong arms wrapped around his chest, making it nearly impossible to breathe.

A grunt from behind him precipitated his release and he stumbled forward, gasping in air, even as Ana-Maria darted in behind Starke, putting her full strength into bashing her mug against his temple.

She looked down at the broken mug in disgust as Starke toppled to the floor, leaving the young man staring wide-eyed at his female rescuer.  "Waste of a perfectly good drink."

"It was for . . .a good cause, love."  Jack rubbed at his shoulder as he managed to get his breathing into some semblance of control.

"Just a note, friend . . .never touch the Captain when his crew's around.  It's a bad idea." 

The exclamation was followed by a loud thud and Jack turned to find Steven, one of the younger and smaller members of his crew, standing over one of the brutes that had been with Starke.  

"You all right, cap'n?"  Steven shook dark hair out of his eyes, looking like an overeager puppy.  Jack nodded, very grateful that the young man was on _his_ side.  The boy's hand-to-hand combat skills were sometimes enough to frighten him.

"So what's this you've got here, Jack?  Bringing another lost mutt aboard?"  Ana-Maria stared down at the young man she had rescued, who still hadn't moved from his position on his knees in front of her.

"You . . .you're a _chica_!"

"She is at that."  Jack grinned, though Ana-Maria seemed less than impressed by the lad's assessment of her.  "Now, son, I'd like you to tell these friends of mine what you were tellin' your mate here before he decided you weren't sharing enough information."

The lad paled as his gaze shifted between Jack and the other crewmen from the _Pearl_, apparently deciding that he had walked from the frying pan directly into the heart of the fire.

Then he did the only intelligent thing a young man, more than slightly inebriated, who had escaped a curse, found his life threatened, been saved, and now thought he was being threatened again, could do.

He passed out. 

**Translations:**

Tonto, no has entenido lo que he dicho?  Es condenado!  El diablo, los malditos y los muertos son los duenos ahoras.—Fool, haven't you been listening to what I've been saying?  It's cursed!  The devil, the damned and the dead are the owners now.

Éste es territorio espanol.—This is Spanish territory.


	3. Chapter 2: A Tale Told

Disclaimer:  A member of the phylum chordata owns them all.  Sadly, that member is not me.

**Protector of Life**

**Part 2**

"So, Jack, what's the reason for startin' that brawl back there?  Something about the boy get under your skin?  It's like you to finish fights, but not to start 'em."

"The lad tells a good tale.  I'd've hated to see him die before I got to hear the ending."  Jack dropped the young man's unmoving form to the deck as gently as he could.  Steven had offered to bring him back to the ship, but he would rather have the senior officers of the _Pearl_ hear the lad's tale and give preliminary opinions.  "Do you think we should sling him a hammock and let him sleep it off, or try t' wake him up?"

Ana-Maria answered by tossing a bucket of seawater over the young man, who jolted upward with a start, a quick shake of his head sending water droplets flying.

"Que . . .where am I?"  The young man swept a wary glance over the three people standing over him before turning to his surroundings, paling again as he did so.  "A ship?  You aren't going to . . ."

"You're on the _Black Pearl_, and no, we're not going to impress you.  All my men sign ship's articles willingly."  Jack extended a hand, helping the lad back to his feet and steadying him for a moment.  "Do you have a name, son?"

"Diego."  The young man again darted a swift glance over the _Pearl_'s officers before dropping his eyes to the deck.  "You saved my life."

"We did.  That tale you were tellin' . . .mind telling it to my men here, Diego?"

The young man shook his head furiously, eyes widening in what could only be stark fear.  "I won't lead you there.  I can't.  I . . .I'm grateful, but if you want to go there then you don't understand, you don't understand what I saw, usted se pone no entiende lo que sucedió a nosotros, y a yo no puedo volver allí—"

"Diego."  The young man stopped abruptly, trembling visibly.  Jack smiled slightly, wanting to put the boy at ease.  "Sé bastante acerca de maldiciones para pisar con cuidado."

"You speak Spanish."  There was an even mixture of awe and wariness in the young man's eyes as he pushed dark locks away from his face.

"And you speak English mighty well for a Spanish mutt."  Ana-Maria prowled closer to the boy, staying a pace behind Jack.

Diego paled and backed away, glancing at Jack, apparently wondering if the pirate captain would protect him from his own crew.  "My father could speak some English, and I wished to be an officer.  If you do not have connections in high places, then you have to learn how to both speak and read at least the rudiments of English and French."

"So that you can sign a treaty without givin' away half the empire.  It's the same with the British."  Gibbs studied the young man almost pityingly.

"Diego, I just want you to tell the tale.  No one here wants to hurt you, and I certainly don't want to be cursed again.  Once is more than enough for any man."

"You were cursed?"  It was a mixture of relief and fear that Jack saw in Diego's stance and face at the newfound grain of knowledge.

"I was.  Once.  Not a pleasant experience, hardly looking for a repeat.  If you'll tell the story, I'll listen.  All right?"

The young man nodded slowly.  "All right.  Where do you want me to start?"

"At the beginning, but in my cabin.  If I can overhear, so can others."  Diego nodded warily, staying as close to Jack as he could as they entered the captain's cabin.  Jack gestured for the young man to take a seat as he settled into the chair closest to the door, adopting the same relaxed position he had sported in the tavern.  "Now, just start at the beginnin'.  Oh, and try to keep it all in English."

The young man couldn't seem to decide what to do with his hands, twisting them together, laying them flat on his thighs, twisting them together again.  "The beginning . . .the beginning would be the storm.  I was crewing on the _Oso Oro_ . . .or at least, that's what we called her.  She was a galleon, and loaded heavy with treasures.  Some of them were wrested from the heathens, some were taken from the mines . . .it was a large shipment, though.  Captain Fernandez . . .Lope Fernandez was captain . . .he was watching out for pirates.  The only pirate he missed was nature herself.  There was no warning, no hint of storm until it struck, and before we knew what was happening we were on the reef and sinking."

Diego paused, closing his eyes.  A shiver ran through his body.

"There were men in the water . . .men stuck down below . . .waves sweeping sailors off the deck.  The light was fading.  I thought it was the closest I could ever be to hell.  The Captain was yelling commands, trying to reinstate some kind of order . . .he partly succeeded.  He . . .he ordered us to grab as much of the cargo as we could and to take it on the boats with us.  It was Benigno . . .Benigno Rodriquez was the first mate . . .Benigno who cared for us as men.  That was always what he did.  It was Benigno who helped me learn proper English, who was going to help me with the French.  He was the exact opposite of the Captain.  The older men said that was why he was placed as first mate, because he could undo most of the harm that the Captain did, could prevent a mutiny.  You have to understand, Benigno was a good man, not only a just but a compassionate man . . .he would not have . . .he could not have . . .not by his own _choice_ would he have—"

"Diego."  The young man looked up and straightened abruptly at the sharp tone, and Jack was again struck by the depth of fear and grief in his countenance.  "Diego, it's all right.  Keep going."

The young man nodded, looking down again.  "There were men in the water, but the lifeboats were too laden for us to pick any of them up.  Between the waves and the rain and the wind and the dark only two of the boats managed to make land, the Captain's and Benigno's, or at least make land at the same place.  El diablo must have had a good laugh, knowing what we brought ashore with us.

"At first everything seemed to be going well.  We pulled the boats on land, and made our way into the jungle, where it was a bit drier, though not much.  It would have been a miserable night, but we found a cliff overhang, and we were able to get out of the rain, dry ourselves a bit, though there was no fire, no hope of fire with everything so wet.

"I do not know what possessed us to go through the boats, what else we hoped to find.  Gold does no good with no one to trade it with.  Benigno, though . . .he found something that would have best been let be.  It was a medallion, on a silver chain, one of the heathen idols, a woman with a jaguar head.  He should not have touched it, let alone taken it for his own, not on that cursed night."

Diego paused, his hands forming tight fists, and Jack got the distinct impression that he was trying with all his might not to cry.

"He did take it, though.  He took it, and he wore it, and we laughed a bit at it, as he allowed us to, or I did and three or four of the other young ones.  The older one's . . .they were right in their superstitions, their signs against evil.  Captain Fernandez should have ended it there, should have told him to put it back and leave it, but we were all weary, all sore."

"The idol . . .it had a woman's body, a jaguar head, a water jar in her right hand and a throwing stick and arrow in her left?"  Jack didn't shift his posture as he asked, nor did he meet the young man's puzzled gaze.

"Aye.  That's what it was.  Have you heard of it?"

"No.  Keep going."

"It started working at him that first night.  We should have said something.  We should . . .we should have done something then, taken it away, but we didn't see what was happening.  He didn't start screaming in his sleep until the second night, and we were all facing terror, the terror of the storm lived again and again in our dreams.  We should have seen.

"It was the third day when he started seeing things during the day, and we started to be frightened, truly frightened.  Even the Captain was frightened.  That . . .that _thing_ . . .that monster . . .it must have shown him hell.  We tried to take it, then, we tried, but he wouldn't give it up.  Benigno, our protector, the one who kept the Captain at bay, he was turning on us, and we didn't know what to do.

"He disappeared, the third night.  We heard things, in the bushes, in the trees.  We considered running, but we didn't know where we could run.  When Benigno came back, he was quiet, very quiet, and we thought the worst was over.  We were wrong.  The Captain asked Benigno where he had gone, and when he didn't answer, he began yelling at him, insulting him.

"I never saw a man move as fast as Benigno Rodriquez moved then.  Before the rest of us had even seen what was happening, Fernandez was dead.  Then he turned on us.  I didn't know eleven men could have so much blood in them.  Most of them didn't even fight back.  It was so completely unexpected.

"He had me on the ground with the dagger at my throat.  I couldn't even think straight enough to realize that I was about to die.  All I could see was his face, Benigno's face, my teacher's face, our protector's face . . .and he was going to kill me.  He was going to kill me for no reason."

Jack allowed the young man to fall silent, simply watching the play of emotions over his face.  There was anger, and grief, but most of all there was a fundamental fear and incomprehension.  "Diego, what happened then?  Why didn't he kill you?"

"He heard it.  The thing in the idol.  The demon.  He heard it hunting him, and he panicked.  He was screaming, and he tried to run . . .I couldn't understand half of what he said, but I heard something about a great cat, a jaguar.  Then . . .then . . .You will not believe me."

"We haven't doubted you yet."

Diego studied Jack just as carefully as the pirate had studied him earlier before nodding.  "There was . . .a tear.  A hole in the world, a glimpse into hell.  I could see it, looking over his shoulder.  He fell into it, and disappeared.

"I ran, then, back to the beach, but there was no safety there.  The storm had washed up wreckage from the ship, but it had also given back those that the sea had already claimed.  Some . . .some the animals had already gotten to, and I . . .I couldn't bear to touch them to bury them.  So I walked, as far and as fast as I could.  I eventually found a ship that was careened in a bay, several days from where we had made land, and I was able to barter passage with work and the few trinkets I had picked up from the beach.  That is how I found my way here."  The young man didn't seem able to look up from the table, scratching idly at it with one hand as the pirates looked at each other.

"Diego, why don't you go out on deck?"  The young man rose quickly and slipped out the door without further comment.  Jack straightened in his seat, looking first to Gibbs and then to Ana-Maria.  "So . . .what do you think?  Worth saving the lad's life?"

"I don't know.  Think you can convince him to actually show us where they were?"  Ana-Maria looked toward the cabin door, speaking low.

"What about that curse?  Would be invitin' disaster, cap'n, especially if ye already know about it."  Gibbs, also, had his attention more focused on the door behind Jack than on his captain.

"From what the lad says, it was only one piece of the treasure, and as for the curse . . .I'll grant you the boy saw something out there, and it terrified him . . .but seeing someone you respect lose their mind and murder your shipmates, that could definitely do it.  As for seeing hell . . .he passed out, Benigno came at least a bit to his senses and recognized a young man he liked, and left him there.  It wouldn't be the first time a shipwreck and a jungle have driven a man mad."

"I suppose so."  Gibbs didn't seem at all convinced.

"From what the boy says it was one idol, one piece out of many.  Don't let anyone pick up an idol with a goddess' body and a jaguar head.  Besides, I think I know the idol he's talking about . . .only when I heard about it, it was blessed, not cursed."

"Blessed?"  Ana-Maria and Gibbs both turned their full attention back to Jack, but there was more skepticism than belief in Ana-Maria's tone.

"When I was younger, before I got the _Pearl_, I crewed for a bit on the _Seahawk_.  On one of the raids the captain picked up a woman of mixed blood who had been raised Mayan before being captured and sold as a slave by the Spanish.  She told some fascinating stories, some that could send shivers down your spine, and she really believed most of them.  There was one set about a prophet, an idol, and the spirit-helper that was tied to the idol.   The spirit-helper was supposed to protect the life of the prophet, and he did, to the point that the man supposedly lived to be nearly eighty without appearing to be a day over thirty.  The Spanish eventually put two balls in the man's head and another seven or eight in his chest, but even though they shot at close range and the man never reappeared they supposedly never found his body."

"Believing in folk tales now?"  Ana-Maria raised one eyebrow as she watched her captain.

"Keeping an open mind due to experience.  Cursed medallions, cursed swords, Aztec gods, Indian gods . . .who knows what other gods want to sneak into the mix?"  Jack spread his hands open and stood.  "So . . .opinions?  Think we should chase this, or think we should let it go?"

"Chase it, but chase it carefully.  No foolish mistakes."  Ana-Maria also stood.

"No foolish mistakes.  Like I told the lad, I'm really not planning on getting myself cursed again . . .assuming it is a curse."

"You said it was a Mayan prophet this spirit-helper was bound to protect . . .you look a bit more Spanish than Mayan to me."  Ana-Maria eyed him critically, a hint of a smile playing over her mouth.

Gibbs also stood.  "I don't like the idea of a curse, but I trust you to do what's right by the men.  If there's profit to be won with no risk, let's take it."

"That's settled then.  Let's go chase ourselves the remnants of a Spanish galleon."

"You're forgetting one thing, Jack."  Ana-Maria again stared at the door to the cabin.

"Oh?  What's that?"

"Your young guide has already determined that he's never going back."

                                    *                                  *                                  *

"So, Sparrow thinks he can use the boy himself."  Starke rubbed idly at his head, still sore from where the woman had attacked from behind.

"That's what it seems like, sir.  Him and his men took the boy aboard the _Pearl_ with them.  Between those three and the night watch, we didn't think it worth tryin' to retrieve him yet."

"A wise move, Samuel.  They'll be on their guard now.  Best to wait for now.  I doubt the boy'll tell this Jack Sparrow more than he told me."

Samuel nodded, studying the deck beneath his feet.  Starke allowed a brief smile to play across his lips.  There were advantages to taking young crewmen.  A youth could be terrified much easier than a full man, and the terror would last well into his manhood.

"I want you to watch his ship, Samuel.  Take some of the boys.  If you see an opportunity to grab the Spanish brat, do so.  If you get a chance to beat Sparrow at the same time, do so, but the boy is more important.  I'll not lose this treasure to some half-wit of a pirate captain."

"What if we don't see an opportunity, sir?"

The question was a choked whisper, the speaker cringing back immediately, and the small smile again flitted across Starke's face.  "If you don't see and can't make an opportunity . . .Don't let them sail without us being prepared to follow.  _Poseidon's Wench_ can easily match the speed of any ship, even this legendary _Black Pearl _of his.  And once we're in open water . . .legends and loyalty can do little to stop cannon fire."

"Aye, sir."  Samuel sighed in relief and turned quickly, nearly sprinting from the captain's cabin, shaking visibly as he went.

Starke grinned as he reached for his drink.  He had probably been too kind to Samuel . . .the man might start thinking he had a right to ask questions.  Momentary lapses into generosity could actually be considered a useful tactic.  Other than fear, uncertainty was the best way to keep a man from acting or stepping out of line.  Sparrow might have the Spanish whelp, and he might have a loyal crew, but as to keeping both, and keeping both _alive_ . . .

He emptied the mug in one long draught before slamming it back down onto the table.

It was difficult to argue with a crew that believed their captain was the devil incarnate, and would fight accordingly.

**Spanish Translations:**

Usted se pone no entiende lo que sucedió a nosotros, y a yo no puedo volver allí—You don't understand what happened to us, and I can't go back there.

Sé bastante acerca de maldiciones para pisar con cuidado.—I know enough about curses to tread carefully.


	4. Chapter 3: Trust Defined

Disclaimer: Diego's mine! growls protectively That said, no canon is mine, and anyone who really wanted to borrow Diego could.

**Protector of Life**

**Part 3**

"No!"

Jack spread his arms to the side, attempting to put the young man in front of him a bit more at ease, though he, Gibbs, and Ana-Maria were all surreptitiously blocking the most direct paths by which the youth could flee. "Diego, I just want you to tell me—"

"No. I told you… I _told_ you… and you said… "

"I told you I'd listen, and that my mates here would listen, and that's what we did."

The young Spaniard stood speechless, simply staring at the pirate captain. "You tricked me. You tricked me into telling you. This is what you were planning all along." For a moment Jack thought the young man would start laughing, or crying, or possibly both at once. The moment passed, and the pirate found himself impaled by dark eyes that held far too much knowledge for the few years they had seen.

"Diego, I swear that—"

"Mentiroso. Traidor. No aceptaré ninguna promesa tuya." The words were spoken calmly, evenly, no trace of the earlier panic and disbelief evident.

Jack tensed perceptively. If the lad was going to try something stupid and possibly succeed, he was going to do it now.

Diego studied the pirates in front of him, apparently noticing for the first time that they were blocking his escape. "If I were to ask you to let me leave, would you allow it?"

"Estás seguro aquí."

This time the young man did laugh, the sound low and harsh, not a cry of mirth but of hopelessness. "There is no safety to be found among fools who would throw away their lives for a bit of gold."

Jack moved a second too late, his hand closing on empty air instead of Diego's arm as the boy spun and sprinted to the rail, vaulting over it and down into the water, a strange keening cry rising from his throat as he fell.

"Diego!" The pirate captain sprinted to the rail himself, searching the water for the dark-haired form of the young man. "Bloody hell, boy, you better know how to swim."

Silence fell over the deck of the _Pearl_ as three sets of eyes attempted to scan dark water for movement, three sets of ears strained to detect any sound that could conceivably be produced by a scared young man fleeing for his life.

Nothing.

"Diego!" Jack cursed quietly but fluidly as his cry spread out across the water, unanswered. "Damn it, boy, there were easier ways to say no than drowning yourself."

"What d'you want us to do, Jack?"

Jack hesitated for a moment, studying the water instead of Gibbs. The Spaniard had been scared, true, but not scared enough to jump if he truly had no idea how to swim. He had been trying to escape, not die.

"Search the shoreline. If you find him, try to get him back to the ship. If we haven't found him in two hours time, then just give it up. Plenty of other prizes to try for in these waters."

Ana-Maria and Gibbs both murmured acknowledgement, following their captain back to dry land before heading off in different directions.

XXXXXX

It was a disheartened and weary pirate captain that made his meandering way back to his ship nearly two hours later, scuffing his boots through the sand, head half-turned towards the sea as he walked. It had been a long night, searching for the boy, and he was beginning to wonder if he hadn't pushed just a bit too far and driven the lad to attempt something that he quite simply couldn't do.

"The sheer number of young Spaniards to be found in a Spanish port in unbelievable. It's like searching for a pebble in a mound of boulders."

There wasn't even a slight variation in the rhythm of the waves as they slipped between the ships to caress the beach.

"He was young. Too young t' have seen what he did, too young t' be used by people like Starke and me."

A seabird called across the waves, the cry strident and harsh.

"You let 'im go once. People're supposed to get three chances, love. You could at least tell me if you let him go, or if you claimed him."

A gentle breeze sprang up off the bay, twining through his hair, causing the beads and pendants to tap out a quiet rhythm of their own. Jack paused and closed his eyes, sighing as he turned fully towards his first and most fickle mistress.

"You know how I hate it when the children die." The words were the softest whisper, never meant to be heard by human ears.

For a moment the wind pulled more strongly, pressing his clothes hard against his body, sending a shiver crawling down his back as the warmth of the tropical night was pushed aside. As quickly as it had come the wind failed, dropping to nothing…

Before shifting, sweeping over the land to touch the sea, bringing with it a young man's cry of mixed fear and rage.

Jack waited only long enough to call out a quiet thanks before spinning on his heel and sprinting towards the cry.

XXXXXX

"Let me _go_!" Diego struggled as hard as he could against the hands that pinned his arms to his back, earning only his second backhanded slap of the night and a fist in his abdomen that drew a cry of pain before shoving all the air from his lungs.

"Let you go? But we've just now caught up to you! Wouldn't want to waste a whole night's worth of searching. You've caused more trouble than you're worth, whelp. If not for the fact that the Captain's interested in you, I'd cut your throat and leave you here to bleed." The words were accompanied by another cuff to the head and a gruff order that caused the hands holding him to loosen.

"What do you want from me?" The young man tried to keep his voice strong and even, to keep the fear from showing. From the laughter that followed his statement, he hadn't succeeded.

"Apparently about as much as Sparrow wanted with you. A bit damp there, aren't you, chico? Sparrow decide you weren't worth the effort? Don't worry. Our Captain won't throw you out like a whipped dog if you don't please him. Now move."

Diego tried to slow the frantic beating of his heart, deepen the ragged gasps that his breath had been reduced to. There was no doubt in his mind that once they got him on their ship he wouldn't be getting off under his own power.

Which meant that he had to free himself now, on solid ground, where his slighter form and knowledge of the native tongue would work to his advantage.

Which would be all very well and good if he could find a way to overpower five—hadn't it been six?—armed sailors who easily outweighed him.

"What… what if I told _you_ where we were when the ship sank? Then you wouldn't need me. You wouldn't even need your captain." The man propelling him forward slowed his pace, and the sailor who had done the talking—and the striking—moved in front of him again. This time moonlight glinted off well-honed steel.

"I'll not hear another word like that from you, _chico_." The word was spit as though it were a curse, and if his life had not been hanging in the balance Diego might have laughed. He had learned a full retinue of curses in more than one language in his short time at sea and would have gladly shared them. "The captain wants you. That's all you need to know, all you need to worry about. Now, you need your tongue to answer questions…" The blade played scraped gently over his lips.

"And your eyes to check a chart…" Diego flinched as keen edge glided silently over his eyelids.

"At least one finger to point to a position…" The blade trailed down to his neck, drawing a small line of blood.

"Everything else you keep by my generosity only. Don't try my patience any further." This time the command to move forward was silent, and the young Spaniard went quietly, meekly. He could feel blood trickling down his neck, could taste blood on his lips and in his mouth from the earlier blow, but still he could see no way to undermine the control of four…

Four?

Surely there had been five before…

"Hal? Rich?" The man holding his arms stopped abruptly, jerking Diego to a painful halt as well. "Samuel, did you see where…"

Apparently there _had_ been six originally.

"No. The Captain'll kill them if they've gone off to chase some wench or down a few drinks."

"Rich might do that, but not Hal. You know Hal's terrified of the Cap'n's wrath."

Diego fought the urge to whimper in pain as the hands holding his arms tightened even further, forcing them up and into a decidedly unnatural position. The four sailors pulled closer together, calling for their missing companions and murmuring among themselves, their accents thickening to the point that the young Spaniard found them very hard to understand.

"You. Was this a ruse? Do you have friends out there coming after you?" The man who had been addressed as Samuel stood before him again, dagger back in hand.

Again Diego fought the urge to laugh as he shook his head. Friends? Here? The only ones who had been anything close to kind to him were Captain Sparrow and his crew, and their hospitality had been a ruse to gain information that they needed. "No tengo amigos aquí."

"In English, scum!"

Diego cried out and collapsed to his knees, pressing both hands to his cheek, certain for one panicked moment that the fiery pain was due to the quick play of a dagger through his flesh rather than to another blow. The man who had been holding his arms kicked him forwards, sending him facedown into the dust and filth of the street where he curled into a ball, intent only on protecting himself from more harm. The sound of a pistol discharging was lost on him, though the solid thump of a large body striking the street near where he lay earned a small jerk.

"Now, mates, don't you find that it's not very heartening, beating on someone who's just barely old enough t' make the cut as a man if he was standing up straight, let alone if he's scared half to death and just trying to survive?"

Of all the voices that could have filled the silence, that was the last one that Diego had expected… but it did give him some measure of hope. He had seen this man fight. He was quite capable of looking after himself in a brawl, and the pirate obviously knew how to use the sword that a quick glance showed him holding quite familiarly, as though an extension of his hand…

The young Spaniard had just started crawling to his knees when an enormous weight centered on his back and the cocking of a second pistol sent him down to the ground again.

"You just used your shot, Captain Sparrow. By my reckoning that puts three shots against your one sword."

"Really? You sure about that?" The pirate captain scrutinized the pistol in his hand before swinging it up in one fluent motion.

Diego was never sure if the sound of the shot or the fall of the man who had held his arms during the painful trek back towards the dockyard registered with him first.

"There's more than one of them. Samuel, there's more than one of them!" Diego would never have credited any of the men who had captured him with the ability to convey stark terror before.

"Quiet! Keep calm. _He's_ still one man." The order was punctuated by the report of Samuel's pistol, the shot going wide as Diego took his chance and lurched as hard and as fast as he could, hoping to escape the crushing weight bearing down on his back.

"So you've got a name. Samuel, is it?" Sparrow moved forward, his movements somehow both lazy and subtly purposeful, drawing the eye. "You were with Starke, weren't you? Guess he's got more courage than I gave him credit for… or less, actually. How many men does it take to detain one scared boy?"

"This isn't any business of yours, Sparrow. Just return to your ship and stay out of this."

The pirate captain halted his slow sidle forward, resting his chin on his pistol, his sword swaying loosely from his left hand. "Or what?"

"Or you die." Another silent command passed between the two remaining members of Starke's crew, but before the other man could fire his pistol Sparrow had swung his up and neatly dropped the other man without missing a step.

"Now it's just your sword against mine and those of my companions. Just give it up. You know you can't win."

Samuel's only answer was a swift kick to Diego's ribs followed by a short rush towards the pirate captain, a rush that was met with practiced ease.

Diego watched the ensuing duel as though through a gossamer curtain, sights and sounds both muted to a point where there seemed to be no urgency in the vicious exchange, no sense of danger or terror. He knew he should get up, should run, should aid the pirate, should do anything but simply lie there and watch… but he couldn't.

"Boy…"

The rough hand grasping his shoulder was enough to shatter the spell that held him in place, and he attempted to lurch away.

"Hush, lad, ye're safe. Jack'll be through with that fool soon enough. Are you hurt bad?"

Diego shook his head, not trusting his tongue to form the words to answer in the negative as the far larger, gray-haired sailor gave him a swift check, feeling gently at his ribs. Apparently satisfied that nothing was badly injured or broken, the larger man hauled the young Spaniard unceremoniously to his feet before turning his attention back to his captain.

Sparrow had been joined by his dark-skinned companion, and the two of them had Samuel on his knees in the street, his sword a good dozen feet away.

"Now, I want you to tell Starke the boy's mine now and he's to keep his hands off, savvy? I don't take it kindly when my crew's worked over, and I return the favor." Sparrow's sword hilt slammed against the larger man's skull, the thud reaching easily to Diego's ears, causing the young man to flinch again. The pirate captain paid no heed to the slumped bodies in the road as he picked his swift way across the road.

Diego stared down at his feet as the pirate captain stood in front of him, dark eyes fathomless and unreadable. There was no calculation in the movement, no shame to hide, simply blatant fear. He had no gauge against which to measure the severity of this man's wrath, a wrath that was sure to be directed toward him now as punishment for running.

He couldn't help but flinch yet again when fingers darted beneath his chin to force his head up, or contain his surprise when there was no roughness to be found in the touch.

"I said you were safe with us before. Do you believe me now?" The pirate captain dropped his arm to his side, swaying slightly as he studied the young man before you.

Diego said nothing, his gaze falling away again from that of the pirate's, settling as though with predetermined intent on a small tear in the pirate's coat, a tear surrounded by a liquid that seemed black in the darkness of the night.

"You're bleeding." The voice that spoke was too soft, too dull, too choked to belong to him, and yet the young man knew it was he who had spoken.

"It's nothing. You're bleeding, as well. Do you believe me? Will you trust me?"

Diego trailed one finger through the blood that had trickled down his neck, staring at it in avid fascination. He could feel his entire body trembling.

"Diego, will you trust me? If you won't stay, I'm not even going to bother taking you back to the _Pearl_. Maybe you could outrun Starke's men, keep out of his reach, maybe not, but it won't be my problem anymore."

"I just want this to be over." Diego looked down again, this time in shame as the sobs tore themselves from his throat despite all his efforts to stop them.

"It won't be over until someone has the treasure. You told the story to people, and now they'll follow it. It's what we do. You can come with me or you can wait for someone else to find you. What's your choice, son?" Sparrow has moved closer during his speech, invading what little personal space he had left the young man to begin with.

Diego's hand shot up and grasped the pirate's arm where the blood had collected, causing Sparrow to tense, standing perfectly still for the first time since Diego had known him.

"You bled for me." The sniffle that followed the statement did little to aid the mood, but it did help clear his voice for what he wished to say next. "You came after me and you bled for me. I am bound in honor to do what you ask. You saved my life, and if in return you wish for me to endanger yours I shall. I will trust you."

"Good." Diego never saw the move that freed the pirate easily from his grip and placed him a good three feet away. "Gibbs here will take you back to the _Pearl_, get you cleaned up and give you a hammock. We'll discuss this further in the morning, after you've had a chance to rest."

The young Spaniard stood speechless, watching through bleary eyes as the pirate captain walked away, the dark-skinned woman still by his side.

"Come on, lad. You've already more than pushed your luck where the captain's concerned. Jack'll make allowances for youth, but you've already used more than your quota." Gibbs' firm hold on his arm was the only thing that Diego was aware of as he was led forcefully through the streets and back to the ship from which he had escaped to disaster what seemed a lifetime ago.

**Spanish Translations:**

Mentiroso. Traidor. No aceptaré ninguna promesa tuya.—Liar. Traitor. I won't accept any promise of yours.

Estás seguro aquí.—You're safe here.

Chico—Boy

No tengo amigos aquí.—I don't have friends here.


	5. Chapter 4: A Course and a Teacher

Disclaimer:  If I owned them, would I be this cruel?  thinks  Don't answer that…

AN:  My grandma has terminal cancer and her last wish is to go to Alaska, so the entire family, myself included, is going with her for an indeterminate length of time.  I won't be able to update until we get back.  Sorry, guys.****

**Protector of Life**

**Part 4**

"You went after him."  Ana-Maria kept close to her captain's side, looking not at him but at the ground beneath their feet and the stars above their heads.  "Why'd you go after him?"

"Because he knows the way to free riches."

The dark-skinned woman smiled slightly, recognizing the flippancy behind the reply.  "True, he claims to know the way to treasure, but it certainly hasn't been free.  You've paid for it with blood."

"It's nothing.  Honestly.  And what would you have had me do, leave him for Starke to play with?  He's barely a man… won't even survive to truly count as a man if he keeps up the way he is…"

Ana-Maria sensed that the last few mumbled words hadn't been in answer to her question, and she let silence descend between them again, simply keeping a quiet camaraderie with the man who was gravitating closer and closer to the center of her world every day.  She knew that eventually his seemingly random path would lead them back home to the _Pearl_.

"What do you think of him?"

The question caught Ana-Maria off-guard.  "The Spanish brat?"

"Unless there's another him we should be discussing."  Jack turned one of his gold-studded grins on her.

Ana-Maria shrugged.  "He's young.  Not much of a fighter."

"Not a fighter at all.  Three times his life's been in danger, and he hasn't done anything to help himself.  If he's already battle-shy…"

"Maybe he doesn't know how to fight."

"It'd be a poor fool that places learning another language over learnin' to protect yourself in battle."

"He seems t' think we're the fools."

"We didn't run off and get ourselves beaten, now did we?"

Ana-Maria was silent for a moment.  "Ask him if he knows how to fight."

"And if he says no?  I'm not exactly the teaching type."

"Most people wouldn't place you as the white-knight type or the loyal type, but you can fill those categories well enough if you want to."

"Which, if you hadn't noticed, I normally don't."  Though his tone was light enough, it left no doubt that the conversation, so far as he conceived it, was over.

It was truly the dead of night, after even the pubs had quieted down and people were sleeping off their celebrations, when Jack and Ana-Maria clambered back onto the _Pearl_'s deck, where they were met by Gibbs, keeping his own night watch.

Jack tilted his head slightly in acknowledgement of his old friend.  "Boy asleep?"

"Dead t' the world.  Starke's men worked him over pretty well, but nothing serious.  What about you?"

"I'm fine.  How many of the crew're back aboard?"

"Maybe half.  Wouldn't be too hard t' round up the others tomorrow, though."

"Good.  You and Ana-Maria will see to that while I get the rest of the supplies and get our young friend to sign ship's articles.  Might want to get some rest before tomorrow.  G'night, mate."

"G'night, Jack."

Ana-Maria could feel Gibbs eyes on her back as she followed Jack into his cabin, but thankfully the older man said nothing.

Jack didn't seem to notice her presence, throwing his coat over a chair before fetching a basin of fresh water, a cloth, and a bandage.  Without his coat to cover it and with the light of a fresh lantern, the bloodstain on his sleeve seemed to glow a dark red.

The pirate captain stiffened when she put her arms around his chest from behind.  He relaxed slowly as she traced her fingers down his chest, tugging his shirt free before pulling it off quickly, careful of his injured arm.

"Let me take care of it?"

Lack of denial was read as acceptance, and the female pirate swung around in front of her captain, grabbing the cloth and dipping it lightly into the water.  She began to gently swab away the dried blood from the sight of the cut.  It truly wasn't bad, not having touched any muscle, far removed from any main arteries.

The gentle rhythm seemed to have a soothing effect on the pirate captain, and he leaned against her, resting his head against her shoulder and toying with her hair.  Ana-Maria didn't even pretend to be entirely focused on the injury as his hand journeyed from her hair down her back, hitting all of the right places to send jolts of pleasure down her spine.

Ana-Maria wasn't quite certain when they made their way over to the bed, or what happened to the cloth, and to be perfectly honest she didn't entirely care.  Still, there had originally been a purpose to following him into his cabin…

"Your arm…"

"Is fine, thank you, love."

The whispered reassurance was all Ana-Maria needed before completely losing herself in her lover's embrace.

XXXXXX

"I set you a very simple task, Samuel.  Find the boy and bring him back."  Starke's voice was low as he stalked silently around his cabin, the calm before the storm.

Samuel knelt in the middle of the cabin, his head tilted down and his arms hugging his chest, the perfect image of terror and subservience.  His voice, when he dared speak to fill the silence, was little more than a whisper.  "We tried, sir."

"You tried?  You tried, Samuel?  Where is the boy, then?  How could you fail if you truly tried, if you put every ounce of will into serving me?"

"Sparrow was faster.  He had the advantage of surprise.  The boy was soaking wet.  We thought Sparrow had tired of him.  Please, sir—"

"So you underestimated your enemy.  I set you a simple task against a well-known enemy, and you promptly proceed to underestimate him.  You've tried my patience significantly tonight."

"I'm sorry, sir.  Please, just give me another chance—"

"There will _be _no more chances ashore.  Captain Sparrow knows now that we haven't given up.  He'll keep the boy under lock and key."

A low whimper was all the answer that Samuel gave, his head drooping down even further.

"I should kill you for this transgression.  You've seen me kill men for less, haven't you?"

"Please…I've been loyal to you for years…"

"I _should_ kill you…"  Starke stopped in front of the terrified man, studying him minutely.  "However, in honor of your past service I will spare your life."

"Thank you, sir.  Thank you."

"Tell the bosun you're to receive fifty lashes as soon as the entire crew has been assembled.  Perhaps you will learn to serve me without failure in the future."

Samuel paled at the statement, but murmured a quiet affirmation anyway, hurrying from the captain's cabin before Starke could change his mind.

After all, in the grand scheme of things a possible death by whipping beat a certain death from the captain's pistol any day.

XXXXXX

Diego stared hard at the water-stained parchment in front of him.  "What does it say?"

"It says that you won't do something stupid like starting a mutiny, that you'll do your fair share of the work, and that you'll get your fair share of the profits.  Also has some things about inhumane treatment of any captives being avoided.  Standard ship's articles."  The pirate captain seemed completely honest… a fact that did little to put the young Spaniard at ease.

"Why must I sign this?"  He had agreed to aid the pirate in finding the treasure… his word should have been binding enough.

"Because if you don't then you're not considered real crew, and you don't get a fair share of the profits."  Sparrow spoke patiently, evenly, as though he had given the same speech many times before.

"If you're caught by the authorities, they will believe I am a pirate."  If they allowed him to live instead of hanging him, such an event would effectively dash the lingering hope he had of someday becoming an officer in the navy… a hope that was already very close to death.

Sparrow didn't even try to hide his grin.  "Son, you might not have noticed, but you were rescued by what was most likely a buccaneer crew careening their hull, and dropped in a port with a bit of a hazy reputation, where you told your tale to two pirate captains, the better of whom you agreed to lead back to the place where your little adventure occurred.  Like it or not, for the time being it's in your best interest to be a pirate."

"What if I don't wish for any share of the profits?  The blood of my shipmates has been payment for your treasure.  I do not wish to see any of it again."

Sparrow was shaking his head even before the Spaniard had chased the last words from his tongue.  "Diego, if you want to keep yourself in one piece it'd be best if you sign.  The crew gets nervous when there're men aboard who aren't bound to the same laws.  You don't lose anything, and it'll make things much more enjoyable for all concerned."

Diego hesitated still, continuing to stare at the neat rows of characters before him.  Speaking a language was far easier than reading it.  He would have to rely on the pirate's word as to the content of the articles.

"Can you sign your name?"  Sparrow's tone was still even, not condescending in the least, but the young man nonetheless felt his cheeks warm as he nodded.

"When I have shown you what you wish, will you bring me ho… to a Spanish port?"  Diego looked away, covering his slip quickly.  The pirate captain who had saved his life not once but twice did not need to hear him pleading like a child to be taken back to his home.

"When our deal's complete and I think it's safe, aye, I'll scratch your name off the register myself and see you make it home."

Diego nodded vaguely, took a deep breath, and signed his name as quickly and neatly as he could.

"Thank you."  Captain Sparrow grabbed the parchment and swiftly replaced it with a map of the peninsula.  Fine lines and thin rows of characters that Diego assumed must be reef markers and other warnings surrounded the outline of the coast.  "Do you know how to read this?  Could you tell me about where the ship foundered?"

Diego nodded as he studied the map.  "I think I can.  This is where we are currently?"

The pirate nodded as Diego pointed to a small mark on the Isle de Cozumel.

"I found the careened ship here…"  Diego moved his finger slowly over to a secluded bay on the peninsula.  "That was three day's walking west from where we had come ashore.  We left from here… two day's sailing on a light breeze when we ran aground.  That would have placed us here, near Tulum."

A genuine smile was the young man's reward as Sparrow turned the map back towards him, his finger tracing a path from the island to the peninsula proper.  "You're certain of your calculations, Diego?  Absolutely positive?"

"Aye, sir.  Benigno taught us younger ones some rudimentary navigation."

The note of sorrow and longing in the young man's voice apparently wasn't lost on the pirate captain.  "He sounds like a good man."

Diego smiled slightly himself, determined not to have even a hint of tears show.  "The best."

The expression on the pirate's face was unreadable, and it took all of the young Spaniards willpower not to squirm under his intense scrutiny.

"What are you good at?"

Diego stood speechless, not certain what to say.

"You said you were on a galleon before this.  What'd you do?  Sails?  Guns?  Cook?"

"Sails, mostly.  I worked the guns twice before…"

The pirate captain nodded, ignoring the way the statement had trailed off.  "What about combat skills?  Do you know how to use a sword, fire a pistol?  Can you do anything in hand-to-hand situations?"

"I've used a sword and pistol before.  If I had to I could take care of myself."

Diego knew immediately that the pirate saw through his vague answer.

Captain Sparrow scowled darkly for a moment, his fingers tapping out a curious rhythm on the wooden desk.  A slow smile worked its way across the pirate's face as he stood.  "Ana-Maria's one of the best women fighters you'll ever meet.  She's been handlin' weapons nearly her entire life.  I think she'll make an excellent instructor for you.  See Gibbs, tell him you'll be workin' the sails, then go find Ana-Maria.  She'll be overjoyed to see you."

From the look on the pirate's face, Diego sincerely doubted that.

XXXXXX

"Jack, I am not going to teach your Spanish brat how to fight!"

"He's not mine, and I thought it was your idea that someone teach him if he didn't know."

"That someone wasn't supposed to be me!"  Ana-Maria stood fuming in the middle of Jack's cabin, staring furiously at the unperturbed captain.

"Just teach him the basics, enough to drop an opponent long enough to get away and stay alive.  That's all I'm asking."

Ana-Maria sighed, relaxing slightly.  "Why do you want _me_ to do it?"

"Because if he is battle-shy, there's nothing like being bested by a woman to drive him out of it.  Young men are proud.  He won't like being shown up by a woman that could have been his slave."

Jack winced as Ana-Maria's hand connected with his face.  She pointed a finger in his face and opened her mouth as if to curse him, but it was nearly a full minute before she said anything.

"I'll teach him, Jack, but if I ever hear you speak about me in connection with being a slave, I'll do a hell of a lot more than slap you."  Her hand motions left little to the imagination when it came to what this might be.

"You'd wreck a lot of fun for both of us, love."

Ana-Maria raised her hand in warning.

Jack sighed.  "Just don't bloody him up too bad.  Lad's had a rough time of it."

Ana-Maria nodded and turned to go.  "Don't worry, Jack.  I know when to stop."

XXXXXX

"Sir."  Samuel stood stiffly at attention, acutely aware of the pain engulfing his entire back from the sting of leather lashes.

"You have something to report?"  Starke didn't look up from his charts to acknowledge the man before him.

"Entire crew's back aboard.  We'll be prepared to follow the _Pearl_ when they sail."

"Very good, Samuel.  Perhaps you will have an opportunity to redeem yourself yet."

Samuel nodded and backed away as quickly as possible.  "I hope so, sir."

Starke continued to study the chart of the peninsula, tracing the most likely area for the treasure to be in.  He smiled thinly to himself, the expression never reaching his eyes.

"The game isn't over yet, Sparrow."


	6. Chapter 5: Discoveries

**Disclaimer:** I want them. Reality doesn't care.

**AN:** If anyone is still reading, I love you. I know I've been away for a long while, but I'm trying to get back into things. The next update should be in a week's time, if all goes well. I also realize some accents are missing from the few Spanish words, but seems to have gone insane.

**Protector of Life**

**Part 5**

"Sir, the _Pearl_ is pulling out on the dawn tide." Samuel stood stiffly at attention in front of his captain, careful not to wince no matter how uncomfortable his raw back made him.

Starke didn't even acknowledge the man's presence, turning a small glass ball over and over in his hands as he studied a map of the surrounding waters.

"Sir? Would you like us to follow?"

Starke was silent a moment more before slowly shaking his head. "No, Samuel. We won't follow… at least, not yet."

Samuel nodded hesitantly, completely confused by his captain's orders but willing to follow them without question. "I'll tell the crew, sir."

A brief hand motion from Starke halted his retreat.

"Have you heard of this Jack Sparrow before?"

"Aye, sir, in the taverns. Plenty of myths floating around about him. It's hard to say what's the truth, though."

"Yes, very hard, but in all of these myths two things are constant. He is mad… and he is brilliant. He will expect us to follow him directly, and will no doubt have set a course to account for such actions. He will have his men prepared, on alert… No, following directly would hardly be the best course." Starke seemed to be talking to himself, tapping the map gently. "What you will tell the crew, Samuel, is that we are setting a course that will take us along the coast of the peninsula. Everyone must be ready to leave by midday."

"Aye, sir." Samuel saluted, toying with and quickly discarding the idea of mentioning that everyone was prepared now, having thought they would follow the _Pearl_ out on the dawn tide. Silence was the better part of valor so far as unnecessary information was concerned.

wwwwww

Ana-Maria studied the young man in front of her carefully, watching as he twisted the borrowed sword he held into various positions, apparently captivated by the glint of late-afternoon sunlight off the weapon. She could tell at a glance that this was going to be even more work than teaching him to fire a pistol had been… though a sword was less dangerous than a pistol. Unless he suddenly decided to start channeling Will Turner's spirit, the crew would at least be safe so long as they heeded the five-foot berth they had originally given him when he came within inches of shooting Gibbs as the older pirate adjusted one of the shrouds.

"You ready to start, Diego?"

The boy looked up quickly, apparently startled at hearing his name. It had been a long day for the lad, waking to the chaos of a ship leaving port, being ordered up to work in the rigging, and finally coming to her for a relatively quick lesson in survival.

Not bothering to wait for him to formulate an answer, in Spanish or otherwise, Ana-Maria stepped up beside the boy and adjusted his stance. "In any close fight, sword or hand-to-hand, balance is the most important thing. You've got t' keep yours, and you've got t' take his, understand?"

The young man nodded rapidly.

"Feel how you're standin' now? It'll be diff'rent when you're on dry land, o' course, but the basic principle still applies. Keep your balance; bend your knees a bit. All right. Now, I'm gonna show you a few basic blocks and strikes."

The next two hours were spent demonstrating moves and adjusting Diego's stance and movements. As they worked, Ana-Maria was peripherally aware of an audience gathering. Stepping back to watch one last lunge, she nodded and, drawing her own sword, moved in front of her pupil.

"Now, one last lesson. Don't fight clean. Pirates won't; most merchants won't, and most Navy won't either, leastwise when they're fightin' us. If you get a chance, use your pistol. If you've got t' fight close, use your sword and your hands both, 'less you want to use the pistol to swing with. If you get an opening, go for the eyes and the…" Anamaria studied the young man in front of her. "Family jewels, so to speak. I can tell ye from experience that a man who finds them either crushed or missing won' be givin' anyone more trouble for a good bit of time."

Diego nodded grimly. "And what if they are a woman?"

"Prob'ly won't see many, but if you do, go for the eyes. If you can get in close enough, hit right here and down, hard as you can." Ana-Maria pointed to a spot low on her abdomen. "They'll act just like a newly-made eunuch. Any more questions?"

The boy shook his head.

"Then let's see how much you've learned." The grin that she sent the young Spaniard was closer to that of a cat stalking a rat than a teacher testing her student.

Ana-Maria didn't give any warning before charging the young man, who whipped his blade up just in time to parry her first strike. For the next minute he stayed strictly on the defensive, blocking her blows efficiently, keeping his balance well, and even though she wasn't using her full strength and skill the female pirate was still proud of the Spaniard.

The pride became annoyance as Diego shifted slightly and began to attempt an offense as well as a defense, his strikes the hacking of an inexperienced swordsman rather than the graceful, deadly blows she had instructed him in.

Slipping easily past his guard, she rapped the flat of her sword against his wrist. Diego yelped and stepped back, nearly dropping his sword as he glared at Ana-Maria.

Ana-Maria didn't back down an inch. "Concentrate, boy. Remember what I showed you."

Diego didn't answer, merely moving into a much more fluid, and dangerous, attack, one that Ana-Maria blocked swiftly before testing his guard once more. The young Spaniard broke off, stepping back and circling her. A slight hesitance as his eyes swept the deck around them caused Ana-Maria to look also, somewhat surprised by the size of the audience they had gathered. It only took her a second to determine which visage had distracted the boy.

"Watch me, Diego, not the captain." Ana-Maria called his full attention back to the fight, attacking again. "You've got to be aware, but not distracted."

Once again the two swords danced through a series of thrusts and parries, and Ana-Maria admitted to herself that she was a brilliant teacher. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind and a brief grin flashed across her face than the boy shifted his stance too quickly, moving in too close and sacrificing his balance. The female pirate blocked the strike easily, reaching out her free hand to steady the him.

She realized what he was up to a second too late to keep the boy's fist from plowing into her abdomen, exactly where she had shown him to strike. Her initial reaction was to bring her sword around for a disemboweling strike as fire seemed to flare in her insides, her common sense changing the trajectory of the strike at the last minute so that it merely drew a line of blood across the young man's arm.

"All right, that's enough." Jack's voice silenced the murmuring of the crew and kept Ana-Maria from voicing any of the curses that had come to the forefront of her mind. "Diego, go have Gibbs clean your arm. I'm impressed, son. You've obviously learned how to fight like a pirate. Just be thankful Ana-Maria didn't take your head off for that last stunt."

Diego, one hand clamped over the gash on his arm, stared with wide eyes at the pirate captain before turning his gaze back to his teacher, bowing his head as he did so. "I apologize if I hurt you. I simply wanted to see if it worked."

"No, you didn't." Ana-Maria fought the urge to curl on a ball on deck, instead bending over, one hand balancing on her knee, the other still clutching her sword, her knuckles white from the strain. "You wanted to impress him so he doesn't throw you out on your Spanish mutt tail."

The boy blushed, looking down at the deck and bowing slightly. "I am truly sorry, senora. I should not have acted as I did. It was dishonorable of me."

Ana-Maria took some pity on the young man. "You fought like a pirate. That's exactly like I wanted. Just remember that in a real fight your opponent won't try to keep you from falling; they'll use it to skewer you. You did good, chico. Go get cleaned up. It's almost time for supper."

Diego nodded, bowed slightly to Jack, and, taking a quick glance around deck at the audience he had gathered, scurried off.

The female pirate took a deep breath and winced, trying to ignore the burning in her gut. It had been a mistake to show him that move. The likelihood he'd ever get to use it on anyone but her…

"You make quite the teacher, Ana." Jack studied his hands as he spoke, a faint ring of humor touching the words.

Ana-Maria glowered at her captain, an action that only caused his slight grin to grow wider and more solicitous.

"Do you need help back to the cabin, love? After all, I heard that what he did feels rather like—"

"Jack, if you don't shut up, you're going to need help back to your cabin." Ana-Maria growled the words, forcing herself to move forward slowly, acutely aware that her hunched posture would probably be quite hilarious to anyone watching. She consoled herself with the fact that no one on the _Pearl_ was idiotic enough to make the mistake of laughing.

"Truly, though, you did a really fine job with him. I wouldn't have believed him capable of fighting yesterday, let alone capable of cheating."

Ana-Maria resisted the urge to growl a curse, recognizing that Jack truly was giving her a compliment, even if was a backhanded one.

"Just for the record, Jack." The female pirate glanced up at her captain. "Next time you need to teach a whelp to fight… do it yourself. I guarantee any cheating would've caused more permanent damage to you."

wwwwww

Gibbs gently tightened the bandage around his silent patient's arm, sighing as he did so. Playing doctor to the young Spanish whelp was becoming far too common an occurrence. "Is it that you've got somethin' against not bleeding, lad, or are you just lucky this way?"

"No comprendo, senor." The young man kept his head down, speaking in a whisper to the deck.

"Revertin' to bein' a little Spanish mouse isn't goin' to help here, Diego. Why'd you try pullin' a stunt like that? Ana-Maria could o' taken your head clean off if she'd wanted to. Lucky for you that the lass was in a good mood." Gibbs sighed once again as the young man's head sank even lower, his chin resting against his chest. "Y'know that ye don't have t' prove yourself to Jack, right?"

For a moment the boy didn't answer, and when he did it was in a harsh whisper. "He sent me to spar with a _chica_. If it was not a test of my worthiness, what was it?"

"A way for him to ensure that you don't end up dead because he can't be there t' watch you all the time. Jack's not goin' to just throw you out, son. He might be a pirate, but he's got a good heart, and he's got a soft spot for youth. He might use 'em if he has to, but he tries to keep 'em in one piece. Ask William Turner if you ever meet him." Gibbs turned to leave.

"Why doesn't he trust me?"

The question caused the older man to freeze in his tracks. "What d'you mean?"

"He did not believe me when I said I could take care of myself. He does not believe me about the curse. Is it because I'm Spanish, or because of my youth, or because he thinks me incompetent…"

"He believes ye about the curse. As for protectin' yourself, you didn't show him much proof before today. As for bein' Spanish, Jack's not one to care about nationality, or age, really, so long as you make sense. As for bein' incompetent… you're certainly not an incompetent sailor. He saw that today. But you need to listen to me, Diego. You don't need to go tryin' to impress Jack. You'll do somethin' stupid and it'll just get someone hurt, quite possibly Jack, and that's not somethin' any of us want. Understand me?"

"Aye, sir. I understand." The young man nodded.

"As for sendin' you to learn from Ana… it's because that lass's one of the best fighters on any pirate ship. Y'see, she's a woman tryin' to do somethin' only men want to do. Means she's worked herself harder, is harsher on herself, knowin' everyone else will be. Can't say as I approve of her bein' aboard, especially with what's been happenin' between her and Jack, but… she's earned her place. Stop tryin' to impress Jack and you'll earn yours, too. We've got a good crew here, _chico_. Stop worrying and you might actually have some fun."

Diego returned the older pirate's grin slowly, the smile turning to a small frown as he followed Gibbs back up on deck, turning the older man's advice over in his head.

wwwwww

"Land ho!"

Jack glanced up as Steven scampered down from his position in the crow's nest.

"Just on the starboard bow. Looks like rough waters going in, though." The young sailor tilted his head in emphasis, stray strands of black hair falling about his face.

"It is. No worries there, though. Still no sign of our friend?" He been expecting the cry of 'sails ho' from the moment they left port.

"No sign, cap'n. Looks like our friend found out who he was playing with and decided to turn tail and run."

Jack didn't comment, sending Steven back to his post before going about the careful business of guiding his _Pearl_ closer to land. After all the trouble that Starke had gone to for the boy, was it really possible that he had simply given up? It didn't seem like something the man would do… not that Jack had much information to base his intuition on. Still… best to be wary.

The sun had already reached its zenith and begun its descent when Jack deemed the distance between the _Pearl_ and land to be as small as he could safely make it. Handing the wheel over to Ana-Maria, he joined Gibbs, Diego, Steven, Rich and Cracker in the longboat.

The journey from the _Pearl_ to the peninsula occurred in silence, and Jack watched as both Gibbs and Diego threw dark glances at the peninsula before crossing themselves, betraying a mutual Catholic heritage. Steven, Rich and Cracker, blissfully unaware of the full tale the Spanish lad had brought, looked eagerly at the approaching beach, and Jack could almost see the imagined treasures dancing in their minds.

It took mere minutes to beach the boat, minutes that the pirate captain spent scanning the jungle that faced them, Diego at his side. "Just remember t' stay close, mates. Don't want any accidents happenin'. Diego, lad, you know the way?"

For a moment that seemed to last ages the young man was silent, simply staring into the jungle. Then he nodded briskly, pointing further down the beach. "We must go that way. The trail by which we entered the jungle is there, Captain, as is the majority of what was washed ashore."

Jack nodded, patting the young man gently on the shoulder before heading off the way he had come, one hand resting reflexively on his pistol. It had been much easier to dismiss the curse and any unknown connotations when he was safe in the grasp of his _Pearl_… quite another when he walked blithely towards the source of the boy's nightmares.

They had walked for perhaps twenty minutes when the first signs of debris appeared, pieces of wood cast just above the hide tide line. Jack could feel the tension oozing off the young man beside him as they continued on, wreckage becoming more frequent.

The one thing that was blessedly missing from the beach was bodies, or portions of bodies. The scavengers had either been unusually cleanly, or…

"There. That's the way we went." Diego's voice was carefully neutral as he pointed a slightly trembling finger toward what, on closer inspection, did indeed appear to be a path. Once again Jack took the lead, the others falling in behind him. Everyone was noticeably subdued, Diego's unease having put all the pirates on edge.

Nothing seemed to be out of place in the jungle, the sound of the waves against the beach growing steadily fainter while the rustling of hidden creatures and the jumbled calls of unseen birds filled the void. The pirates spread across the path, peering intently into the underbrush, turning warily at any unexpected noise.

"Jack." Gibbs' voice was hushed, carrying no farther than was necessary, but the tone and the quickly hidden sign against evil both put the pirate captain on edge.

A space had been cleared in the underbrush and the ground disturbed, the area forming a rough fifteen-foot square, dodging around two tall, well-rooted trees.

A grave. A grave for far more than one person.

Well, it at least explained the lack of bodies.

"Someone's been here before us." Jack studied the mass grave a moment more before shrugging and moving back to the trail. They had already come this far; they might as well follow through. If whoever was here had felt the need to bury the dead, then there was a good likelihood they could bargain with them anyway…

Time seemed suspended as they worked their way deeper into the jungle, closer and closer to the cliff overhang where the Spaniards had set up a temporary camp.

When they finally stepped out of the lush vegetation and faced the cliff, the sight that met them stopped all six in their tracks.

Steven, Rich and Cracker, never having been on one of the _Pearl_'s forays to Isla de Muerte, were struck speechless the stacks of gold and other treasure that had been piled erratically around a large golden statue…

A golden statue with a very familiar idol hanging from a silver chain around its neck that had completely captured the attention of Jack, Gibbs and Diego.

"That should not be here." Diego had paled considerably beneath his tanned skin, shaking visibly as he stared at the statue and its accoutrement. "That _cannot_ be here. It was… with Benigno…"

Jack nodded and slowly moved toward the statue, staring at the idol as though his intense scrutiny would force it to reveal its secrets. "I think we should—"

Whatever he was going to say next was lost, instinct causing him to spin around a second too late to prevent a large, well-built blur from plowing into him, uttering a primal shriek as it came. The scent of old blood and burnt fabric filled his nose as the force of the first blow caused his feet to leave the ground. Both of Jack's hands flew backward in an attempt to regain balance, his right closing on something small and hard that gave way to the accompanying snap of a silver chain.


	7. Chapter 6: Impatient Demons

**Disclaimer:** Don't own them, never will, and many are probably grateful for this.

**AN:** Thanks to Jackfan2 for an amazing beta job. To anyone still willing to read after the unexpected hiatus, gratitude is in definite order. So, on with the show! Spanish translations come at the end of the chapter; hopefully I didn't massacre the language too badly, as it's been a while since I studied it.

**Protector of Life**

**Part 6**

He reacted before he thought, striking out with the heavy object now clenched tightly in his right fist, left hand groping for his pistol. The man uttered a short sound halfway between a moan and a whimper, shying away from the idol for a moment before continuing his attack. He was in too close, using his superior weight to pin the pirate to the ground, making it nigh on impossible for him to reach any of his weapons.

Jack didn't even see the blade until it was sunk almost to the hilt in his arm.

Desperation and anger struck before pain, and he began struggling in earnest. He tried bucking, kicking, punching with his left hand, biting, anything to get the madman far enough away for him to draw a weapon. Before he hadn't wanted to actually injure the man, or at least not badly, a sense of who it most probably was itching at the back of his mind.

Once it came down to kill or be killed, though, there would never be any qualms.

As quickly and unexpectedly as the brawl had started, it ended. Within seconds the man was gone, hauled back by a half-dozen arms. Gibbs grabbed his captain's left hand and hauled him back to his feet, keeping a discrete steadying hand on his shoulder.

"Ye all right, Jack?"

A withering glare was the pirate's only response as he cradled his right arm close to his body.

The older man carefully stretched his captain's arm out, examining the place where the knife was firmly lodged, perhaps three inches below his shoulder.

"Least it wasn't your throat."

"Right. Thank you so much for all the help. Ah." Drowning a cry of pain with a string of muttered curses, Jack again tucked his arm against his side.

"Best wait 'til we've got someone who c'n stitch ye up before pullin' that. Bleedin's not too bad as is." Gibbs took a respectful step back. "An' we had a bit of a… problem gettin' to ya, 's the only reason we didn' help sooner."

Looking over Gibbs' shoulder, Jack saw his three crewmen in a circle around his attacker. Cracker and Rich stood slightly in front of him and to either side, swords drawn and expressions dark; Steven stood behind him, sword in his right hand, cocked pistol in his left.

Diego was picking himself slowly off the ground, a dazed expression on his face, blood dripping again from what looked this time to be a broken nose. His eyes flicked wildly between Jack and his crew's now-preternaturally-still prisoner.

A barely-coordinated flailing of arms and legs landed the boy on his knees in front of Jack, hands clasped together as though in prayer. "Por favor! Por favor, lo estoy mendigando, no lo mata. Es—"

"I'd guess that this is Benigno." The pirate captain kept his voice cool, level, eyes locked on their prisoner rather than on the boy. He considered surreptitiously nudging Diego with his foot in an attempt to make him stand, as having someone begging at his feet was just a mite awkward, but with his luck today the boy would take it as a reprimand.

"From what I heard, Benigno, you were a decent man. I'd bet a good prize that it was you who buried the dead." He stepped carefully over the boy, now huddled silent and confused on the ground. With a modified version of his usual saunter that caused as little unnecessary movement as possible in his arm, he paced toward the larger man. Bending down just outside the defensive circle of weapons, Jack tried to make eye contact with their captive. "So I was just curious as to what would make you decide to attack some harmless visitors who hadn't done you any wrong."

The man's head lifted slowly, revealing bright blue-green eyes surrounded by a mane of awkwardly cropped grey hair. His shirt and pants were little more than singed tatters, held together by threads; large flaps hung loose, probably torn during their brief scuffle. Opening his mouth, he uttered something that was half-way between a house-cat's hiss and a big cat's rumbling warning.

Definitely mad, then. Jack cast one more look at the boy, face bloody and dirty, eyes wide as he watched the pirate's every move. He was never going to forgive him for this, but it was the only viable way to protect the _Pearl'_s crew.

Rising back to his full height, he circled around to Steven, always aware of those bright, odd eyes on him. He pitched his voice low, so only those in the circle could hear. "Kill him. Do it quick as you can, but let me distract the boy first. He's the only other survivor from the galleon."

Something like pity rose in their faces as they nodded, never taking their eyes off the man they surrounded.

"When it's done Gibbs and two of you'll stay here, start sorting through this mess, while the rest head back to the _Pearl._" Jack didn't wait for acknowledgement before moving again, back to where Diego now stood, defensiveness, wariness and fear warring for control of his features.

"English privateers."

The voice was low, rumbling, and it brought Jack up short. He gave a minute shake of his head as Steven cocked his pistol.

"Wrong on both counts, mate."

"Pirates, then, but English-born, or close enough." Benigno's face contorted as he spoke, as though each word were a Herculean effort, but he was fluent enough, only a slight accent marring his tone.

"Sure we can't be Navy?"

The man just continued to stare up at him. He held his hands loose, but there was something predatory about the way he sat.

"All right, so we're bloody pirates, and yes, a few of us will concede English birth under great duress. Are you Benigno, formerly first mate of the _Oso Oro_?"

"I was called that. Once. A long time ago."

The eyes flicked briefly toward Diego, and Jack could almost see something besides predatory intent on his face. Something… lost. Forlorn.

"Do you recognize the lad?"

"Diego." The look flashed across his face again, replaced almost immediately by rage… betrayal. "You should not have come here again. You should not have brought others here. Or perhaps what happened was not clear enough, boy."

"I know what happened. Les mató. Todos" The young man's voice shook but didn't break over the words.

"Yes. I killed them. I was meant to kill you, but the devil has little patience." Eyes slitting, Benigno lazily rolled his head until he was staring at the pirate captain's right hand. "Tell him that I will never forget what he did to me."

Jack was suddenly acutely, uncomfortably conscious of what he still held clasped in his fist. Until the Spaniard pointed it out, he hadn't even been peripherally aware that the idol was still in his hand … a fact that did little to ease his mind.

"You would have them kill me, yes, because of what I did? Because of what I attempted to do?" A low snarl broke through the man's increasingly strained English. "Then have them kill you at the same time."

"Sorry, but I'm not much taken by the thought of suicide."

"And murder? What… about murder? You… will kill. You will… know… madness." Both of the man's hands twisted in the grass beneath him, clenching, unclenching. "Verá infierno."

"Cap'n…" Rich didn't turn from the man to face him, but Jack didn't need to see his expression. His voice said it all, uncertainty, hesitation, more than a touch of fear. Sailors were a superstitious lot.

Given his own mind at the moment, he couldn't exactly blame them.

"It's just talk. Keep him guarded. If he stays quiet, let him live. The second he pulls anything, protect yourselves."

"I only… attacked you… to keep you… and your men from… taking it. Do you not… see? There is… no hope. Not… for you. Please."

"If you hadn't interfered, none of us would've touched it, and I've certainly no mind to keep it. We'll leave it behind, just like you did."

"You can… _never_… leave it…" Benigno spoke to the ground, both hands fisted, digging into the dirt beneath him, back muscles so taut it looked painful.

Jack didn't respond, turning determinedly away and motioning for Gibbs to follow him. His arm was starting to ache in earnest, and he wanted badly to get back to the _Pearl._

The sound was more yowl than human scream, but the report that followed, as well as the soft sound of blades meeting flesh, left no doubt as to the origin. Gibbs moved to intercept the boy before he could do something stupid, but Diego didn't so much as flinch, face white and hands trembling as he stared at the body of his once-friend. The older pirate hesitated before laying a hand gently on the lad's shoulder for a minute before turning away.

The pirate captain closed his eyes for a second, forcing himself to be conscious of the weight still held tight in his right hand.

When he opened them, he could almost swear he saw a pair of bright green eyes watching him from the jungle.

Instead he swore under his breath, trying to figure out what about him it was that curses found so bloody attractive.

X X X

"Gibbs."

The older man moved from the lad's side to his captain's as quickly as he could, furtively crossing himself as he did. He didn't know what was going on, but whatever it was, it definitely didn't seem to bode well for Jack.

"Thoughts?" The pirate captain moved as he spoke, deeper into the jungle, toying with the idol that he now held dangling from his left hand by the broken chain.

"Whatever that cursed thing is ye've got there, best to be rid of it." He studied his captain's face as he spoke, finding only weariness, thoughtfulness, and a tightening that betrayed pain. Nothing… off, though.

Not yet, at least.

"I'll get to that part in a minute, once we're far enough away." A bright grin ghosted across Jack's face, fading as quickly as it came. "What about Benigno, though? He looked like he'd been through Hell, quite literally. Pretty nasty burns, cuts, but they'd all been scarred over for… quite a while. Not somethin' I'd've expected, given the relatively short amount of time he's been here and the fact he managed to dig one bloody giant grave."

"He didn't…" Gibbs trailed off, waiting until the pirate captain turned a questioning glance at him to continue. "Jack, he didn't seem quite… human."

"So you noticed, too. Growling, snarling, and not like a person _imitating_ an animal." Jack stopped dead, lifting the amulet to eye level. "Right then. None of the lads can see us? If I'm right about this thing, whatever you do, don't touch it. Bring me back to it, but don't so much as brush against it yourself. Savvy?"

The pirate captain didn't wait for an answer, allowing the chain to run through his hand and the idol to drop to the jungle floor. It made an unexpectedly loud thud as it struck, suggesting it was made of something far denser than gold despite looks. Eyes turned resolutely away, the pirate captain took one step away, two… and collapsed. Only a sudden, desperate grab by Gibbs keeping him from landing on his right arm.

"Jack!" The older man frowned in concern, muttering a curse and then a prayer under his breath as he gently shook his captain, hoping for some response.

Blood was seeping out from around the knife at a faster pace, the fall having jarred it considerably. Hands steady despite his uncertainty—maybe even fear, though he wouldn't admit that to himself—Gibbs shifted his unresisting captain into a more comfortable position on his back. Checking the pulse at his throat, he found it slow, far weaker than usual. The pirate's breathing was also shallow and sluggish, his skin cool and clammy to the touch.

"Damn ye. Why in God's name do we keep gettin' int' these scrapes?" Gibbs hesitated only a moment more, looking between the man laid out before him and the idol lying, face-up, less than two feet away.

As gently as he could, he slid his arms beneath the younger man's, lifting and dragging him until the pirate's left hand rested within inches of the idol.

"God forgive me, Jack."

He could almost swear the cat-head was smirking at him as he placed his captain's, his _friend's_, hand over it.

Consciousness returned to the pirate as quickly as it had left, though only a quick hand kept him from braining himself with the idol as he moved to massage his forehead.

"Oh. Let's not be tryin' tha' again anytime soon."

Gibbs waited with ill-disguised unease as Jack dropped the idol into a small pouch at his hip. Taking the younger man's left hand, he again hauled him back to his feet, a strong sense of déjà vu filling his mind. Twice in less than twenty minutes… this was pushing things, even by Jack's standards.

The fact that the pirate captain maintained the contact for longer than would usually be necessary, swaying even more than usual on his feet, didn't escape Gibbs's notice, either.

"Answers a few questions, though. Definitely not a harmless trinket, and it's going to be murder getting rid of it." Jack examined the knife in his arm, scowling at the fresh blood staining his jacket and trickling down to his hand. "Right then. I'll be headin' back to the _Pearl_ now, send back some of the other boys with another boat while I get this taken care of. Think you can handle Diego and sorting out what's worth taking?"

A slow nod was Gibbs answer. "What about—"

"Seems clear enough that I can't just throw it away. From what Diego said, we've got three, maybe four days to figure something out. If we can't, well—" Jack grinned again, but there was a seriousness in his eyes that made the older man's stomach drop. "I trust you and Ana to do what needs to be done. I'll not become a killer."

"Aye, Cap'n." The hushed words and a supporting hand were all Gibbs could offer as they made their way back the short distance to where they'd left the rest of their party.

X X X

Ana-Maria shut the door to the Great Cabin with a sharp finality that Jack was far too familiar with, turning and glaring at him over crossed arms.

"Now, would you care to tell me what else happened out there, or do I have to beat it out of you?"

"You wouldn't hurt an injured man, now would you, love?" Jack, shirtless, was curled protectively around his right arm, an already-blood-stained bandage now wrapped where the knife had previously been embedded.

"I will if I have to. Rich and Cracker looked… scared, to put it bluntly, and you've been far too quiet." Pulling the chair away from his desk, she straddled it, never moving her eyes from his. "What happened, Jack?"

With a long-suffering sigh and a one-shoulder shrug, the pirate captain answered. "We ran into Benigno Rodriguez."

"The man Diego said killed the crew." Ana-Maria's brows drew together. "How? I thought he was… gone, and even if he wasn't, to survive out there alone…"

"He wasn't exactly alone." Reaching into the pouch, Jack drew out the idol on its broken chain. "If ye could find a decent cord or chain for this, I'd greatly appreciate it. Seems it and I'll be good friends, for a few days at least."

It took only a moment for Ana-Maria to make out the weapon, the water jug, the jaguar head on the figurine, details that she didn't really need to know what it was. "Oh, sweet Jesus. Jack, what—"

"He rushed me. That's how I ended up with a knife in my arm. He claimed it was to keep us away from this, and maybe he thought it was."

"You don't agree." Ana-Maria's eyes remained locked on the figurine, and if looks could melt metal, it would already have been a pile of slag.

"No. I think it was trying to get new prey. Probably how he ended up picking it up in the first place. He said it's not a 'patient devil'."

"And you're certain it is—"

"I tried to leave it behind, back in the jungle. Got two steps away and hit the deck, woke up with a rather nasty headache. Yes, I'd definitely say it is what the boy says it is." Jack lowered the idol slowly into his lap.

"And what're we supposed to do?" Ana-Maria finally looked at her captain again, concern etched in every line of her face alongside a seething, target-less anger. "I'll be damned before I'll sit here and watch you die, Jack Sparrow."

"I wouldn't ask you to do that, love." Jack looked up at her, a disconcerting honesty shining in his eyes. "But I will ask ye to kill me, if I can't beat this thing."

"What?" Outraged indignation brought the female pirate to her feet. "It's been, what, four hours, and ye're already talkin' about—"

"The only thing worse than a mutineer is a captain that doesn't care for 'is ship or 'is men. If I lose it, kill me. I saw him, Ana. You didn't. I'm not going to turn into some raving, blood-thirsty animal." He kept his voice low, calm, but the intensity in it was enough to stop her in her tracks. "I'm not sayin' I quit. I want to live a hell of a lot longer'n this. There's some way to get rid of the idol. Benigno didn't have it on him when we met him, but it'd already done a good number on him."

"Can ye ask hi—"

"He's dead. Diego's probably begging permission to bury him."

"And you're sure everyone else's safe?" The question was pitched low, calm and controlled, an obvious response to his tone. Sitting down beside him as she spoke, Ana-Maria placed a comforting hand on his left shoulder even before he could answer.

"They should be. It was only Benigno that was affected, and he was clearly fixated on this piece. Just don't let anyone else touch it. No matter what."

"All right." Ana-Maria stood slowly, moving toward the cabin door before turning around. Jack offered a grin, but it was more hang-dog than hopeful, something further emphasized by the vulnerability his lack of shirt and coat seemed to give him. "I'll find a chain for that cursed thing. Don't worry, Jack. We'll get through this."

"Course we will, love." The door closed softly this time as his first mate stepped out, and Jack stared hard at the idol once more. "No idea what exactly the curse is or how to break it, but of course we will."**  
**

X X X

**Spanish Translations:**

Por favor! Por favor, lo estoy mendigando, lo no mata. Es— — Please! Please, I'm begging you, don't kill him. He is—

Les mató. Todos.—You killed them. All of them.

Verá infierno.—You will see Hell.


	8. Chapter 7: The Naming of Cats

**Disclaimer:** Firmly under the ownership of the Mouse, and seeing as I've never been one for eating rodents (too small), unlikely to become mine.

**Protector of Life**

**Part 7**

He'd done it.

Not that there'd ever been any doubt, mind. After all, he was Captain Jack Sparrow, a legend and a myth in his own time. The grin that accompanied the thought was part relief, part pride and all joy as he waved the helmsman away and claimed the _Pearl_'s wheel.

It felt amazingly good, the steady lilt of the deck beneath him, the smell of the salt air, the familiar circling of his own thoughts, free of the taint from the cursed idol.

"Ana-Maria." He called his first mate over on a whim. The crew knew well enough what they were doing, and he wanted to see the tight-lipped, exasperated rejoicing he was certain she was doing for himself.

"Captain." The woman appeared behind him with the suddenness and silence of a ghost, wrapping her arms around him in a far more public display of affection than he would usually credit her with. "You're looking well."

"Why wouldn't I be?" A tight feeling of unease began to build in the back of Jack's mind, but he quickly brushed it away. He had been _celebrating_, damn it, his mind his own, his _Pearl_ as responsive as ever to his hands, and he didn't want to lose that.

"Oh, I just thought you might still be mourning over what you did." The female pirate's hands began working at his jacket, pulling it open, lifting his shirt free from his pants.

"Ana, what's got int' you, love?" The pirate captain pulled as far away as he could without letting go of the _Pearl_'s wheel, eyes scanning the suddenly empty deck for someone else to take her. While he sometimes thought he would like the woman to be a bit more open and forward, undressing him on deck had never entered into the equation.

"Nothing's got into _me_, Jack." A rough quality infiltrated her voice, almost but not quite a purr. Her fingers ran lightly over his ribs, stopping once or twice to trace a scar, sending shivers down his spine.

"What did you mean before, _mourning_?" The pirate captain attempted to focus his thoughts, but they felt scattered, slow, weighted down and… filtered.

"Sorrowing. Regretting. Mourning. I am certain that is the word in your language, no?"

He could feel her breath, warm and hot on his ear as she whispered the words.

"That might be the word, but I've got no idea what you're talking about. Gibbs!" An unprecedented feeling of relief swept through his body as Jack gestured the older man over. Gibbs was steady, reliable. He'd know what was going on.

"Tell him what he's supposed to be mourning, Mister Gibbs." Again the low rumble was present in her voice, reverberating through her chest and into his, her arms still latched tightly around him.

"Why, the crew, Jack." A gentle smile spread across Gibbs face as he spoke, a father's patronizing grin as he spoke with a non-too-bright child. "After all, it was you who killed them."

"I didn't—" The edge of confusion and anger in his voice gave way to a whimper of pain as images suddenly flashed before his eyes. Blood. Confusion. Strength, beyond anything he'd ever known. "No. Tha's not right. I told you…"

"To kill you. Right, lover." Ana-Maria's hold became a death-grip, painful in its intensity. "But you see, it was easier to just let you take care of things for us."

"I don't…" His head was pounding, spinning, even the feel of the _Pearl_ beneath him feeling off-kilter. This was wrong, on so many levels, in so many ways, but he couldn't quite manage—

"I'm not gettin' any younger, Jack, and Ana-Maria here got tired of playin' your little games in order to keep her first mate position. Did you really think we'd take the chance o' killin' you when y'hadn't done anything? Crew'd get upset if we killed you without provocation, but now, you've gone and solved that problem. Now we just erase Jack Sparrow, and the _Pearl_'s all ours. Right, Ana, love?"

"Perfect analysis of the situation, dear. Now, if you'd be so kind…"

He didn't have time to think, let alone move, before the blade was in his gut, twisting, turning, cutting through the _Pearl'_s wheel as though it were water, and he didn't even try not to scream. In a display of strength that pushed the boundaries of humanity, Ana-Maria flung him away from her, his death-grip on the wheel not causing so much as a seconds difficulty.

Blood dripped onto the deck, _into_ the deck of the _Pearl_, absorbed into her as though it had never been.

"Your lady's hungry, Jack. So many years bathed in blood… did you really think she wouldn't develop a taste for it?" Gibbs moved to Ana's side, draped a too-familiar arm over her shoulder.

"No." Jack spoke slowly, right hand ran gently over the _Pearl_'s deck, eyes scanning where the blood had disappeared. His dark lady, who he chased for so many years after he failed her… his first true love. And they would try to tell him… "No. Actually, I _know_ that she didn't."

Staggering upright was difficult, and he was fairly certain if he moved his left hand he'd be getting a better idea of what he looked like inside than he'd ever wanted, but if he focused on that one thought… Better. The pain receded slightly, not fading entirely, but losing the edge of truth that had made him want to curl up into a ball until he died.

"And as smart a move as it was, you can stop using those forms. It's not going to work any more."

"What's not going to work, lover?" Head tilted to the side, eyes slitted, Ana-Maria stalked toward him, one hand outstretched as though to a scared child or wounded animal. "Why're you standing like that?"

"Because not-Gibbs there—" Jack stopped mid-sentence, a sardonic grin spreading across his face. As soon as she had asked the question, the pain had faded, vanished as though it had never been. He didn't dare take his eyes off her to check if the blood had faded, too, but he was fairly certain it had. "Nice trick. Can we stop this game now, though? I know this isn't real. It's too soon for it to be real."

"Jack, you were wanderin' around, talkin' to yourself. What's wrong?" The look of concern on Gibbs face was perfect, the gruff anxiety in his voice at just the right pitch.

"What's wrong is I don't want to play this game anymore. Why don't we do this face-to-face, like good demons?" The pirate captain backed away as he spoke, trying to keep an eye on both his aggressors as they circled around, Gibbs on his left, Ana-Maria on his right.

"What're you talkin' about, Jack? Demons? You been out in the sun too long, take a hit on the head that y'didn't tell us about?"

"Stop it. You're not Joshamee Gibbs. Stop talking like him." He could hear the frustration in his own voice, and that was never a good sign. It meant other things might start showing through, and the last thing he wanted to do was show this creature exactly how close to making him panic and do something stupid it was pushing him.

"Not Joshamee Gibbs? Jack, who was it that let ye babble 'bout the _Pearl_ to 'im before he even knew your name? Who was it that kept ye from gettin' yer fool throat slit clean through in that brawl, what was it, sixteen years ago now? Bled all over me for my troubles, too. Who was it got you a crew so you could go after Barbossa?" Wounded pride and concern mixed in equal measure in the man's voice.

"Oh, that was Joshamee Gibbs." The grin faded into a hard stare as Jack moved back another step, hand closing on his sword as the older man closed. "And you're not him, no matter what you know. Now, if you'd kindly move ba—"

The blade was cold, ice more than pain as it slid between his ribs with what must have been practiced ease. His own sword fell to the deck unheeded as he reached up with his right hand to touch the blade tip.

"Try trusting us now, murderer." The words were a sibilant hiss in his ear. Turning his head slowly, he saw Ana grinning at him, hands red with blood, _his_ blood.

Her eyes were a bright green, pupils vertical slashes as she flashed a red tongue against her hand, a great cat cleaning itself after victory.

X X X

"Jack! Jack, wake up, damn it."

"Ana-Maria! Girl, shakin' his teeth loose isn't goin' to fix anything."

"Well, talking isn't doing any good! He's so cold… Come on, Jack Sparrow. Wake up."

The man in question hesitated a moment more, clenching muscles in his arms and legs to ensure that they were fully functional. He was acutely aware of hands on his shoulders, running across his forehead, through his hair. Only a supreme effort of will and the fact that they obviously thought him still asleep kept him from flinching away.

He hated the demon almost as much as he hated himself for that.

"Jack, you mangy mutt, _wake_—"

"I'm awake, I'm awake." A deft hand reached up to grab hers where it had paused, apparently caught between shaking him, caressing his face and slapping him. "There any particular reason I need t' be up?"

"You cried out in your sleep and we couldn't get you to wake, Jack. It's nigh on twenty minutes since she came and found me." The mixture of concern and calm recitation in Gibbs voice was perfect, spot-on, and Jack had to forcefully remind himself that it was because this was the genuine article.

"Right. Diego said Benigno was havin' nightmares." Stretching lazily, trying desperately not to make it look as though he were avoiding Ana-Maria's hands, he sat up.

"Nightmares, aye, but not bein' able to wake you… What if somethin' happened to the _Pearl_, a storm came up or the Navy or…" Gibbs trailed off. "Sorry, lad. I know you've no control over what's happenin'."

"You two can take care of the _Pearl_. If you see a ship, let her run. There shouldn't be anything out there that can catch her." He was on his feet before either of them could even conceive of lending a hand, pacing away, keeping them always in his peripheral vision.

"What did we do?"

"What?" Jack stopped dead in his tracks, turning to look full-on at his first mate. The fact that Gibbs was doing the same made him feel slightly better.

"In the dream. What did it have us do?" Her voice shook with suppressed emotion, and though anger was present, it wasn't foremost. "What did that _thing_ show you that could spook you like this?"

"I don't know what you're—"

"You haven't let me touch you since you woke. You're keeping a reasonable distance between yourself and Gibbs." A brief pause, a hitch of breath. "You're willing to give up command of the _Pearl_ immediately, without a fight. What did you see? Did we… did we hurt you?"

He hesitated a moment too long, trying to debate how much to tell them, whether it was really worth mentioning. All he wanted to do was forget it had happened, at least until the next time.

"Jack." So much concern, so much grief packed into his name, and he couldn't raise his eyes to meet Gibbs's if his life depended on it. "We'd never hurt you or take the _Pearl_."

"Not unless you have to. Remember that. Kill me before I kill. You'll do that for me, at least, right?" The strength and vehemence with which he spoke caught both his companions by surprise, Gibbs even taking a cautious step back, hand twitching up, half-forming a sign against evil before being pointedly lowered. Jack forced himself to relax, grin half-heartedly. "It was a dream. I know that. Just give me a few minutes to shake it off, all right?"

A low rumble started behind him, quickly rising to a coughing roar.

"Oh, hell." He didn't move an inch, looking between the two pirates, both of whom appeared suitably confused. "I don't suppose you heard that, then."

"I heard nothing." Ana-Maria stood with her feet braced, right hand held low and ready, prepared to draw and fight at a moments notice.

A shake of Gibbs head confirmed Ana-Maria's statement.

Turning slowly, Jack didn't know whether to gasp in wonder or sigh in despair, so he settled on just staying very still and very quiet. The creature was gorgeous, creamy golden-brown fur speckled with circles of black spots, dark holes in the lamplight; glimpses of a white underbelly showed between its front paws. Bright green eyes, brighter than anything he had ever seen in a real cat, held his gaze with an intelligence that he hadn't expected.

Eyes purposefully locked on his, three-foot-tail twitching, the enormous creature opened its mouth, cry again rising from a warning rumble to a harsh, coughing roar.

"I suppose you also can't see the ruddy big cat sitting on my desk."

A quick glance behind him showed that both pirates were shaking their heads, exchanging worried glances as they watched him.

"How big are we talking?" Gibbs spoke hesitantly, eyes continuing to scan what must seem empty air to him.

"Big, say 250, 300 pounds. One giant jaguar, aren't you, mate?" Tugging on the silver chain Ana-Maria had brought him earlier, he looked between the cat before him and the detailed carving of the figurine's head. "I'm not very good at identifying cats, but I'd say this is a picture of you."

If it understood, the beast gave no reply, simply opening its mouth to issue another roar.

"Come on, really, enough of that. If you were able to kill me yet, I'm sure you'd have done it, so could you stop with the theatrics?" With a long-suffering sigh, Jack began to swing the idol back and forth, meeting the cat's far-too-toothy expression with a bored grin.

The cat seemed taken aback, mouth snapping closed with a powerful click, and Jack was reminded all-to-clearly of how jaguars killed their prey. One bite, clean through the skull, leaving little left to identify the victim by, be they human or animal.

"Now, you've obviously got some interesting skills. Manipulating my mind like that, it was brilliant… cruel, sadistic, brutal, but brilliant. Drive them mad before you take them over, that's your game, right? Does it make it easier for you?" He didn't dare look away from the bright green eyes as the cat opened its mouth again, exhaling in a warning hiss that he more felt than heard. "You called me murderer, though, and that's not me. I've squared with every kill I've made. Why do you think I'm a murderer?"

The great cat sank back even further on its haunches, becoming a tight bundle of muscles that was ready to launch itself at any target.

"Come on, Spot, talk—"

"Spot?"

The sheer rage in the low, growling voice would have been enough to cause him to wince if the deafening intensity hadn't already done the job.

"I have the power of a god, mortal. Do not mock me."

"So you do talk. And I'm not mocking you. You haven't told me your name." The pirate bowed slightly, hands together, though he didn't drop his eyes from the cat. "Captain Jack Sparrow, at your service. Now, if we could talk about this whole curse—"

"You are a murderer because of the blood you carry in your veins, the blood that flows in the veins of your friends and crew. I will see it all shed before I am done." The cat relaxed slightly as it spoke, tail still twitching, mouth open. "As to my name, it is nothing your barbarian tongue can pronounce."

"Try me. Otherwise it's Spot all the way." Jack winced as the jaguar head lowered again, teeth shining bone-white. "Unless of course you've a different suggestion—"

"He-Who-Must-Protect. I will not give the word to you, but that is the meaning of my name." The cat turned away, what seemed a carefully-calculated yawn showing the large mouth and razor-pointed teeth off to great effect. "You will have little chance to use it."

"Right. See, that's a bit of a mouthful, so how's about I call you Billy?"

The cat head snapped towards him again, eyes narrow slits, something that could only be suspicious exuding from every muscle in its body.

"Why?"

"Because in a pinch, when we're doing the whole mental torture thing, or when we move up to the whole physical torture thing, which I assume we'll be doing, trying to call out 'He-Who-Must-Protect' might be a bit much."

"Why that name?"

"It means—"

"It means defender. Protector. Resolute protector. So many other names you know with that meaning. You could choose to address me by Alexander's name, by one of the bastardizations of such. Give the name a double edge, as he was a protector of Man, _your_ Man, and that kind of word-play suits you." The cat continued to eye him. "Yet instead you choose that name. William. Will. Bill. That name is precious to you. Do you think these feelings of yours will stay my claws and teeth, or is it merely for your own comfort?"

"I think you can see far too much of my mind." Jack kept his voice carefully neutral, his thoughts as blank as he could.

"A mind is simply another series of veils, easy enough to tear asunder. Your essence has already been tainted by the touch of gods." An almost-human smile seemed to appear on the cat's face, quickly wiped away as a bright red tongue flashed against a paw, the paw across the nose, up to the ear. "You are no great challenge for me, Sparrow."

"I chose the name because I think you were originally meant to protect something. Someone." He waited for a reaction, but the cat merely stared at him, apparently bored. "I heard tales, of a Mayan prophet, a priest, and the spirit—"

"You hear tales, but you do not listen." The cat stood abruptly, leaping down to the deck in one swift, graceful motion, padding toward him.

The head came to rest far too close to his stomach—and other valuable parts—for his liking.

"I think I will enjoy this, little bird. Never has prey attempted to… where is your word… _parley_ with me before. I feel I will remember this hunt for millennia to come. Let that be your reward."

Without another pause, the great cat padded forward, straight into the pirate. There was no cold as the cat's body passed through him, _into_ him, but there was a tingling, a numbness of muscles and thought that sent him down to the cabin deck. For a second he simply lay winded, basking in the gentle, familiar rocking of the _Pearl_ at anchor, trying to decide if there was anything he could have, should have done differently with the creature.

A hand closed unexpectedly on his shoulder, earning a sharp warning hiss and a feral stare.

It was only when he saw the look of horror on Ana-Maria's face, the despair on Gibbs's, that he realized exactly what was wrong with the reaction.

Before he could come up with a response beyond an apology and a curse, the lookout took up a cry of, "Sails ho!"

Clambering hastily to his feet, the pirate captain firmly stopped himself from wondering what else could possibly go wrong today.

It just wasn't worth thinking about.


	9. Chapter 8: Between Two Worlds

**Protector of Life**

**Part 8**

His ship was in extremely capable hands—more capable than his at the moment, that was certain. There was nothing he would be able to do on deck besides destroy morale by jumping at shadows. He wasn't hiding and he wasn't sulking. That was the most important thing to keep in mind.

Besides, he was doing better than he'd expected. He hadn't resorted to sitting in a corner with his hands over his ears and his eyes closed, going 'la la la can't hear you'.

"I feel that would be an extremely entertaining sight. Care to demonstrate?"

Though at this rate, it might not be long until he was.

"Once this is over—assuming your ship survives, of course—they'll likely vote to replace you as captain, correct?" Billy's voice was a low purr, halfway between amusement and boredom. "That is how your world works, no? They are not indebted to you. They can replace you at any time. Perhaps these ones will be kind enough not to—"

"The _Pearl_'s mine, and the crew's a good bunch of men. If they do want me to step aside until I figure out a way to deal with you, then that's what I'll do." Eyes fixed firmly ahead of him, _away_ from the desk where the idol lay next to the reclining jaguar, Jack did his best to keep his voice calm. Project enough calm, and you usually started feeling it yourself. Eventually. "Ana-Maria will make a fine captain."

"Assuming they allow her to be the captain. A woman, of a slave race… some might object."

The sound of shuffling papers actually caused him to turn, but though the big cat was splayed out on its back now as though it hadn't a care in the world, nothing had actually moved on his desk.

"Only a fool would object to her face—or to Gibbs's, or Steven's, or any of a number of others. She's more than earned her place aboard this ship and shown her capability as first mate." The pirate captain stared in morbid fascination as the cat's head shifted, causing it to lie against the idol. Its formlessness, despite all appearances, meant that this placed the idol as sprouting from somewhere within its left cheek. "And don't even bring up the prospect of her not givin' the _Pearl_ back, Billy. We've already been there and done that."

"Yes, but you had also already established my inability to physically interact with you—at least at this point in time—and yet you still dodged each time I moved to play." Rolling over again, the great cat stretched lazily, tail swishing through the cabin wall.

Jack felt his teeth grit despite his best efforts to remain composed. "Show me a man who _doesn't_ dodge when a bloody fat cat's lunging at him with its teeth bared, and I'll show you a man who obviously doesn't want to live anymore."

"I fear what you _want_ has little to do with that question anymore, little bird."

A deceptively effortless leap landed the jaguar half-way across the cabin, forcing Jack to whip his head to the side to keep the creature in his line of sight.

"Oh, do that again, Sparrow. I love the way the toys in your hair move." The jaguar threw out a paw toward the pirate's head, causing Jack to instinctively duck away. Despite what he knew from his brief stint on deck earlier, he could almost swear he felt a shift in the air by his ear.

"Why are you doing this?" The words came out as a low, guttural growl, but he was fairly certain it was his own frustration with being unable to help while his ship and crew faced Devil-knew-what than anything Billy was doing to him.

Fairly certain.

"This is my duty. My destiny. I cannot explain it to one such as you." The cat paced around him as it spoke, and it was disconcerting to see it rub against his legs at each pass but feel nothing.

"Why not?" He sighed in exasperation as the cat jumped back onto the desk without answering. "I'm willing to listen."

"No, you are willing to bargain and search for loop-holes. You are willing to hear why I do what I do so that you may use my words in an effort to save yourself." The words started in an angry hiss, ended in a coughing roar and a display of teeth. What had been a large cat before now seemed impossibly huge as its fur stood on end, the tail now thicker than his arm. "You cannot, though. My actions are bound but not dictated by my duty. My lady's power gives me the freedom to choose, and I choose to shed blood, just as you and yours have."

"I'm not—"

"Not a murderer, I know, you have said it before. Do not try to lie and say that you are not trying to trick me into setting you free, though. All your thoughts are bent upon escape, little caged bird." The cat settled one paw over the amulet, hiding it from view, though the chain protruded like long silver claws. "Even now you hope that the increase in distance you are able to move from my… house means you are successfully fighting my influence. The opposite is true, Sparrow. The further you can move from it before the weakness strikes, the closer bound I am to _you_. So much interference in your life from the gods. So weak the union now, of body, mind, soul. A hunt that usually takes me four days, five, a week, will take me mayhap two."

"If you're so close to winning, why bother bragging about it to me?" He was on his feet and moving toward the cat before he could stop himself, anger and the sickening sensation of fear, for his ship, for his crew, for himself, overriding self-control. "Why not just finish it, why keep coming out here to talk to me? You could keep me trapped in those bloody nightmares. You could—"

"Possess you." The purr was back in Billy's voice as the cat settled down again, green eyes sweeping over him. "Yes, you are near that point. And I could. I shall. I simply… enjoy having prey that will acknowledge me as something outside of themselves and their petty devils. You are… different." _You remind me of…_

Jack's eyes narrowed as he studied the cat. Those words hadn't been 'spoken', or whatever it was Billy usually did. They had been soft as a whisper, an afterthought that he wasn't meant to catch. "I remind you of… who?"

Without a second's hesitation, hardly seeming to move, the creature leapt from the top of the desk at the pirate, lips curled back in a silent threat. He didn't have a chance to dodge as the great cat crashed into him, _literally_ into him, form vanishing as it came in contact with his body.

Pain struck then, pain that he hadn't expected and so hadn't been able to prepare for. He started to scream, but the sound caught in his throat, turned to a snarl of outrage. All sense of space failed, gravity and physical objects becoming mere hindrances as his body contorted without his willing it, muscles stretched almost to the snapping point.

Then even the physical sensation of pain was gone, replaced by a crushing sense of pressure, of presence. Thinking became nearly impossible, reduced to fragments, snippets of emotion. Fear. Anger. Fury.

Hunger.

A deep hunger, beyond anything he had ever experienced. A hunger for retribution, for vengeance, that managed to make his quest against Barbossa pale to insignificance. A hunger for blood.

_Stop it!_

Without warning the pressure faded, sensation returning in an overwhelming tidal wave. He was crouched on all fours on the deck, panting heavily. Even the consideration of movement brought warning twinges from both arms and legs, leaving both getting up and falling over completely out of the picture.

A slow, careful raise of his head brought Billy into his line of vision. The jaguar seemed slightly the worse for wear itself, muscle spasms causing the fur to twitch spasmodically. The large mouth was open, breath coming in panting, rasping gasps.

"Bit off… a bit more… than you could chew?" Jack tried to meet the great cat's gaze, but it turned pointedly away. "Never underestimate me, mate."

"I didn't underestimate you, pirate. I overestimated myself." The cat turned to him, and there was something almost… pathetic about the way its head hung down, green eyes dull.

Jack felt something like pity stir briefly, an emotion which he quickly discarded. He could still feel where the creature had been, inside his head, inside his body. If it wasn't willing to bargain with him or even explain why it did what it did, he sure as hell wasn't willing to care.

The sound of cannon-fire split the thickening silence, and Jack lurched to his feet despite protests from various muscles.

Unfortunately, the cat was also standing and facing him by the time he had made certain up was, indeed, where he thought it was.

"You cannot help them." The cat looked about how he felt, shaky, hesitant on its feet.

"What are you going to do? Jump at me from the shadows again?" A bitter grin pulled at the pirate's mouth as he stepped forward, crowding in on the cat's space, forcing it to back up a step if it wished to continue looking at him. "I think after what you just did, Billy, that might have lost a tad bit of its threat."

"You cannot help them." Crouching now, fur bristling again in an attempt to make itself look more dangerous, the cat hissed the words.

"You can't stop me. Remember? I can walk right—" Attempting to move forward, he found his leg thudding against something warm and soft… soft like fleece-covered steel, the muscles beneath the fur coiled wires.

He didn't waste time cursing. Better just to leap back as far as he could and draw weapons.

"That's all right. If I can touch you, I can hurt you." The pistol was heavy in his hand, almost too heavy given the continued trembling of the muscles in his arm. Now was not the time for his usually-reliable aim to be off.

The cat seemed just as surprised by the sudden contact as he had been, though, tongue flashing down and across its chest multiple times as if to erase his scent, the feel of him.

"Did I say two days before, Sparrow?" The purr was a deceptively calm rumble as the cat gazed at him, tongue still intent upon its grooming. "Mayhap two more hours before you break to me."

"I don't think so, mate." He waved the gun slightly, never moving it enough so that the shot would go wide. "Nothing to stop me from dropping you in your tracks where you are."

"Except for the fact that you know it won't kill me." An infuriating calm again settled over the jaguar as it settled back on its haunches. "And it would be more than just a tad bit painful for you."

"So what are you going to do, sit there all day?" Derision and boredom were carefully mixed in his voice. "I'm just bloody _terrified_ of that. I'm not planning on falling asleep, you've seen that I can kick you out of my mind, no matter how _divided_ you think it is, and if I have to drop you even for a few seconds in order to see who in hell is firing at my ship, I wi—"

"You have not seen my lady's power." The cat stared straight at him as it spoke, face suddenly a mask of deference, an incongruous touch of grief also present. "All you have seen is my power, the power of a guardian. Would you see the power of a god?"

Jack was half-way through opening his mouth to reply with a very firm negative and a "maybe next time" when the cat reached up with one paw, ran it through the air… and opened a window into Hell.

X X X

"Did you hear—"

"We haven't the time to deal with that right now, Gibbs." Ana-Maria kept her voice firm, channeling all of her fear and frustration into fury at the ship that had just opened fire on Jack's _Pearl_. He would never forgive them if they returned his ship full of holes.

Always assuming they got the opportunity to return the ship, something the half-strangled cry she'd caught didn't bode well for.

The older man nodded hastily, glancing once more toward Jack's cabin before turning his full attention again out to sea. "Run or fight? If those shots were any indication, we've got two minutes, maybe less, before they're in range."

"How many ashore still?"

"Eleven."

Gibbs didn't name anybody, and for that she was grateful. Best not to put faces to those she might have to leave behind. Still, the thought of leaving eleven able-bodied crew behind for Lord-knew-who to find…

The _Pearl_ was in top form, pulling to be let loose. If Ana-Maria didn't know better, she'd swear the ship, too, wanted to hurt something in place of the demon trying to steal her captain, the demon she was unable to touch or even see.

If they were to maneuver around, try to put the wind in their favor…

"We fight." The first declaration was low, the captain to the first mate. Turning away from Gibbs, she found herself the center of a silent, apprehensive attention. Even those who didn't know the specifics of what was happening knew that something was very, very wrong with Jack. They were nervous, spooked and unable to say by what. It was a cheap ploy, but giving them something to focus that energy on would keep them from thinking about it too much. Keep them from coming up with any ideas of their own about what should be done and when.

"We fight!"

The cheer that greeted her words was fierce, angry, exuberant.

Stomach clenching as she ordered men to the guns, to the sails, she only hoped the number of casualties thanks to this decision would be less than eleven.

X X X

Smoke from cannon and gun-fire drifted across the deck of the ship, curling up to but not through the hole in empty space that the cat had cut. Blood also sprayed the deck, some of it pooled, some smeared and plastered with boot-prints. More than one pool still held the man who had made it. He could hear nothing, though, no clash of blades, no men screaming, not even the sound of timber settling.

"What did you—"

"Do you recognize the ship?" All trace of anything but cool determination was again missing from the cat's voice.

"No. How would I—" But he did. As his eyes adjusted to the odd angle, treating the hole like a window rather than a physically impossible manifestation of otherworldly strength, details began to jump out at him. There were almost certainly a million ships out there in the Royal Navy like that one. It was possible that it was merely a similar design, perhaps built in the same shipyard by the same hands. There was no reason to assume it was the ship it reminded him of.

Except for the fact that he knew that ship, almost as well as he knew the _Pearl_. It was impossible not to get to know a ship remarkably well when out of the two men attempting to crew her you're the only one who has any sort of nautical knowledge.

"I believe her name is the _Interceptor_." The cat paced back toward him, eyes locked on the hole it had made.

It actually took Jack a moment to remember to cover the creature with his gun. "That's a very nice trick, Billy, but y'see, the _Interceptor_'s been at the bottom of the ocean for a good long time now, so you can stop messin' with my head."

"This is not an illusion, little bird. In your world, she was sunk while under the direction of your first mate during your quest to reclaim the _Pearl_. In others… things did not play out in quite the same way." The cat settled down on the deck, resting its head on its paws, eyes still locked on the rip in space.

"My world." Jack swallowed, trying to determine whether this was truly real or simply another game. He couldn't feel the cat's presence in his mind, but he hadn't been able to while he was trapped in the nightmare, either. Not until things started turning up twisted.

Then again, holes into other men's bloody deaths were a bit twisted and unreal.

"Whose world is it, then?"

"I've no idea. Just certainly not yours. You've been dead for almost four years over there." The cat actually deigned to flick a quick glance at him. Apparently dissatisfied with the lack of reaction, it continued. "In that world, the _Interceptor_ crew decided to fight from the beginning, giving proper credit to the myths of the _Pearl_'s speed. Barbossa had taken little care of the ship, given that its almost-sentience seemed to have placed it under the curse, as well. The myths say it was her choice to die there, to give up her life having finally felt her true captain's presence again. You made it aboard the _Interceptor_ before the _Pearl_ sank, while Barbossa and his men had a very long swim to shore. You chased him for several more years, and died bringing him down. Some say you chose to die in that way, as well."

"How would you know that?" The pirate spoke slowly, trying to keep the cat and the window between worlds both in his view.

"Because I have visited that world before." Again the almost-human smile ghosted across the cat's face. "It was one I thought you would appreciate seeing. Watch closely, now. I believe the action is headed back our way."

As if on cue, men slid into view. He could see the sparks as pistols fired, the catching of blade-on-blade and blade-on-flesh, the open mouths that denoted screams, curses, prayers, but he could hear nothing. Everything was still muted.

One of the combatants face's suddenly slid into sharp focus, and Jack took a step forward.

"Gibbs is his name, correct? Joshamee Gibbs. He and your woman maintained control of the ship, striking up a truce and eventually perhaps a friendship after your death. They drink together on your birthday, stay as far away from each other as possible on the day you died." The cat lolled to the side, stretching lazily. "I believe she is captain at this point in time, though you would often be hard-pressed to determine which is captain and which mate from the way they act."

"He's hurt." Jack's entire attention was fixated now on the drama enfolding silently before him. Blood was spreading in a growing stain from Gibbs's left shoulder down his arm, though the man continued to slash at his enemy.

"He's going to die. I believe the woman is already dead." Exaltation was the main emotion in the jaguar's voice, but it was overly present, more forced than real.

If Jack didn't know better, he would swear there was pity lurking somewhere in the creature's tone.

"He will die there just as all here will die shortly. I thought it would be only fitting that you see the amount of blood that will stain the decks of your ship before the day is over."

Jack didn't pay any attention to the cat, his eyes struggling to pick out Gibbs and his opponents from the seething mass of men. It wasn't a difficult task, as the window the cat had cut seemed to have been perfectly chosen to showcase his battle. Without even being aware he was doing it, the pirate captain took another step closer to the tear, right hand raised as though to touch it, left half-heartedly pointing the pistol in the general direction of the jaguar.

He saw the second man well before Gibbs ever could have, a sailor staggering away from his own now-finished battle, blood rolling down his face from a scalp-wound. For a few precious seconds he wasn't sure whether the man was friend or foe. Then a tightening of the man's jaw, a snarl that could only be disgust and the raising of his sword again as he moved toward the older pirate's back left little doubt as to his intentions.

Before the blow could land, before Billy could say anything more infuriating or even cautionary, Jack jumped through the window.


	10. Chapter 9: A Personal Layer of Hell

**Disclaimer: **Really, they all belong to the Mouse, much as I enjoy tormenting them.

**Protector of Life **

**Part 9**

It was a stupid thing to do, really. He didn't know if the windows were real, and even if they were real, if you could walk through them—suspected, given Benigno's condition and Diego's tale of literally seeing hell, but didn't know. Even if it did work, when he wanted to get back, he'd have to find a way to convince his less-than-cooperative new pet to open the door.

Ana-Maria would never forgive him for just disappearing like that. Come to it, neither would Gibbs, even if the reason he disappeared was because he couldn't watch the older man get gutted and do nothing, other world or not. He had a bad time of it watching anyone die senselessly if he could help it, really; it was a bit of a character flaw that had gotten him both into and out of more scrapes than he'd care to remember.

The trip was fast. A brief sensation of formlessness, a flash of icy fire, and he was stumbling across the deck of the battle-torn ship. All the sounds that had been missing before flared to sudden, intense life, as though making up for lost time.

"How… how did… you…" The sailor who had just seconds before been intent on skewering Gibbs from behind gaped at him with open mouth and wide eyes.

"Sorry, mate." Only a twinge of guilt tugged at his mind as he shot the man. He didn't know this world, didn't know what was happening, but anyone who wanted to kill one of his friends should know they had a short life expectancy.

"Jack."

His name was barely a whisper, almost a whimper. Turning to the other pirate with his trademark grin, he found himself rushing forward to block a sword-stroke that would in all likelihood have severed the older man's jugular.

"Focus, Gibbs!"

The older man still continued to stare at him, face pale, sword hanging loosely at his side.

"You're dead." The same dull, whisper-whimper of a monotone was all Gibbs seemed capable of. "I watched you die. We both did. We… we put you over the side and… Jesus, is this hell?"

The pirate captain couldn't answer, focusing first on taking down the swordsman in front of him. The other sailor had obviously been fighting for quite some time, and the fatigue showed in his movements. Jack's own body was still recovering from the jaguar's failed attempt at direction, though, and if he wanted to land more than one blow he had to fight switch. As it was, he could feel the stitches in his right arm tearing open and blood beginning to trickle down his arm.

Then Gibbs was at his side, and the poor bastard in front of them didn't have a chance.

"It's really you then, Jack?" There was more than shock in the other pirate's voice now—hope, foremost, and joy just underneath. "It's really you, in the flesh?"

"Really me, mate. Alive and wel—relatively well, at least."

"Jack." Without warning Gibbs crossed the step that separated them and drew the younger man into a tight embrace. "Oh, lad, I don't know how you did it, but it's so damn good to see you again."

"Good to see you, too. However…" A sharp tug brought them both stumbling out of the way as three combatants stumbled by. Jack didn't recognize any of them; given the fact that all three seemed intent on hacking the other two to pieces, they obviously didn't recognize their own crew, either. "I believe there's a situation here that needs our more immediate attention."

"Aye." Gibbs drew back abruptly, drawing himself up, face settling into the hard lines of command that Jack had come to recognize. "Spanish navy. Doing a sight better'n normal on our poor girl. They were flyin' false colors. Had her done up real nice and pretty like a prize, and we fell for it. Over half our crew's already down."

A sharp hand motion had Jack jumping to the side as Gibbs rushed forward to exchange brief sword-strokes with what was apparently one of the enemy. Before Jack could move in to offer a hand, the older man had already landed a killing blow, moving faster, harder, with more ferocity than the pirate captain had ever seen in him.

"Is Ana-Maria—"

"Lass stayed aboard, aye. She's captain at the moment. As to where she is—" Gibbs stepped aside, allowing Jack to return his favor of moments before. He waited until the younger man was facing him again before continuing. "I don't know where she got off to once they boarded. Been a bit hectic."

"I've noticed." Transferring his sword to his right hand, he used his left to probe gently at the wound he had received from Benigno. Definitely torn wide open, which wasn't surprising between the ruddy cat and running around like this. The amount of blood he could feel pouring down his arm, see starting to stain the cuff of his shirt, was disturbing, though.

"You're hurt." Anger twisted the features of the older man's face, an anger that Jack recognized as redirected fear.

"Just a cut from yesterday. Nothing to worry about. Once you've control of your ship again, we can patch my arm and yours up."

A slight grin tugged at the corner of Gibbs's mouth as he nodded, reaching one hand up to his own shoulder.

"Now, I'd suggest we go find Ana-Maria."

Turning smartly on his heel, Jack wove his way back into the shifting mass of swords and guns, eyes scanning the mêlée for any evidence of his first mate. Gibbs followed behind, stopping every few steps to provide aid in one of the scuffles Jack carefully bypassed. He finally found her right where he'd hoped she wouldn't be, in the thickest part of the mess, being pushed back closer and closer to the railing. Even through the lingering haze of cannon fire he could see the splinters of wood small arms fire was kicking up all around her and what was obviously a small remnant of her crew.

There wasn't any question about what to do, not really. He managed to kill two of them and Gibbs a third before they'd even realized he was present.

Ana-Maria herself didn't notice until almost a full minute later, only a brief hesitation and then a renewed fury, almost desperation in her fighting style giving her away.

They weren't much, so far as cavalries went, himself, Gibbs, and a half-dozen or so men that the older pirate had saved and then rallied along the way, but they were far more than the flagging remnants of the _Interceptor_'s crew had anticipated. Galvanized, already desperate, scared and blood-hungry, they redoubled their efforts. More than once Jack found himself losing track of who was friend and who foe, wishing one of the crew's would have been kind enough to mark themselves. He eventually contented himself with following Gibbs's lead as to who was fair game, though even the other man's sloppy seconds were beginning to try on his exhausted body.

When the invading crew finally began to retreat, he fell back to Ana-Maria's side, an exhausted but welcoming grin firmly in place.

She didn't slap him. She didn't embrace him.

He felt the grin falter slowly as she merely continued to stare at him, something half-way between cold fury and aching hurt shining from her eyes.

"You promised me."

"I'm sorry." The words were horribly inadequate, even dragged as they were from a barrenly honest place in his heart. He didn't know what he'd promised, though from the way she was watching him, he could hazard a guess. To plan it out so that, as impossible as it would seem, he'd have an escape route; to survive, against incredible odds, when his heart wasn't really in survival anymore. Their world had little enough room for promises as it was; ones between friends that would knowingly be broken…

If he ever met the Jack Sparrow of this world, in Hell, say, he'd be sure to work the bastard over but good for the grief and guilt and depthless rage he had put in Ana-Maria's three soft words.

"You were dead." A mirthless smile pulled at her lips. "Of that I am quite certain."

"It's really me. Alive and in the flesh." He wanted to move to her, offer comfort, but the conflicting emotions in her eyes, with rage so prevalent, prevented it.

"Oh, don't worry. I've little doubt that it is you. Demons and specters usually lack the intelligence to add injuries, or to fight switch once they do." Her eyes moved past him, staggering over the _Interceptor_'s battered crew.

He could see the moment she realized there weren't enough left standing to either crew the ship or repel another wave of boarders.

"I'm afraid you've caught us at a bad time, Jack." A casual flick of her sword sent blood spattering to the side, across the deck. "We're in the middle of being slaughtered."

He never got the opportunity to respond, to decide whether false bravado about getting through it would simply earn him a faster death and ticket to Hell than already seemed his destiny. The first shot caught her high in the chest, spinning her around to face away from him. He caught her before she could fall, held her as the second shot kicked up splinters by his boots.

The third tore through her neck before scoring a deep, burning line across his right shoulder. Blood coated his hands as he released his hold, instincts recognizing the reality of death even as his mind still railed against it.

Gibbs was pulling on his arm then, trying to drag them both back to a semblance of shelter when the next shot from their almost-preternaturally-accurate enemy caught him in the knee. He didn't even have a chance to contemplate asking to be left behind before the older pirate fell, a look of mingled horror and confusion on his face as blood ran from his mouth like water.

Jack's eyes scanned the other ship for the sharp-shooter, face a rigidly impassive mask as his blood dripped onto the deck. If he was going to die here, he would at least know the face of the lucky, over-talented bastard that brought him down. It didn't take him long to find the man, balanced easily in the rigging of the navy ship, a team of two boys passing a steady stream of muskets up to him. A small grin flickered across the pirate's face, and he grudgingly gave the captain of the other ship points for intelligence. If you had a boy who could shoot like that, don't waste any of his time.

Still, it was almost disappointing that he didn't recognize the boy's face.

He tried to scramble to his feet as the man sighted again, but with one arm and one leg all but incapacitated, it was a losing battle with gravity. Icy hot pain, far too familiar, bloomed in his chest, and he collapsed fully, trying to decide whether breathing was really necessary.

The feel of teeth sinking into his shoulder temporarily dimmed the burning agony in his chest, allowing him to draw a handful of quick, painful breaths. That part of his mind not busy trying to process and counteract his seemingly swift-approaching demise wondered why it had taken the cat so long to decide to mete out its justice.

"Foolhardy, Sparrow." There was a deep strain, what he would almost deem pain, in the jaguar's voice. "So foolhardy. Never has prey willingly run to the slaughter. Always do they flee, my claws raking them from behind, driving them to their hell."

The difficulties breathing around a partial mouthful of blood and a chest-full of hurt entailed made it impossible to answer.

It also meant he couldn't embarrass himself by doing more than whimpering as the icy fire spread, enveloping his entire body.

He knew where he was even before the cold fire re-centered itself in his chest. He could see only darkness, whether because his eyes no longer functioned or simply due to an inability to open them, he couldn't tell, and he didn't care enough to find out. No other ship in the world moved like, _felt_ like this one, though. His hands flattened against the deck of their own accord, putting as much of his body in contact with the ship as he could.

His _Pearl_. How fitting that he died here, on his ship, cradled in her arms.

How abnormal, for his killer and tormenter to grant him this dignity.

"Little bird?" There was worry in the cat's tone, what he would almost call grief, and a very obvious pain. "Your injuries are grave. I do not think your people can help you."

No, he sincerely doubted they could help him right about now. It had been a miracle when he survived the last time he was shot in the chest; banking that hard on Lady Luck seemed destined to end less-than-favorably. Even if he did survive, Ana and Gibbs were going to kill him. What were they doing with his ship, anyway? She was tugging hard, striving to pull into a favorable position with the wind and the tide, but not to run. To fight. Surely they wouldn't pick a fight now? It was…

"Focus, little bird." A rough tongue flicked across his face, once, twice, three times. The creature's panting breath rolled across him for a moment afterward. "Do you plan on dying quickly?"

No, not particularly. He'd actually rather just skip the whole dying part entirely, but it didn't seem that he was being given many options there.

"I do not wish to help him. He is not of my people." The jaguar's words were a low, angry roar, the tone changes betraying the fact that it was pacing next to him. "Yet he is in possession of the image, and my lady created it for… Are you certain you won't die quickly, Sparrow?"

He somehow managed to shake his head in a very firm affirmative, suppressing a hiss of pain as the great cat nosed at his chest. Anything that could get Billy this worked up had to bode well for him.

"It will hurt us to have him fade slowly, but it will not be an unbearable pain. Perhaps we might even—"

A paw landed with vicious force less than an inch from his head, and Jack could almost swear he could hear the creature's claws sheathing and unsheathing.

"No. No matter what else, we cannot betray the Lady. We cannot kill him."

That was good… and interesting. It would probably be far more interesting when breathing wasn't such a problem, but at least he was aware enough to file the words away for future use.

The sound of a paw slicing heavily through the air reached his ears.

"I have not the power of healing. Such was already long fading before your Man came. Though I cannot reach so far as once I did, if you will not die quickly, if you will fight for your life, then I am duty-bound to give you a chance."

So Billy was going to help him… when it should be rejoicing, its quest for his death and damnation nearly over, it instead saw… duty? He would have grinned save for the fact that it would probably hurt. That was why Benigno had looked the way he had. The cat had tormented him, driven him to kill, scarred him, led him to a land of fire that would be Hell in his reeling mind… but it hadn't killed him. Driven him insane, to madness, possibly suicide, but not actually killed him.

It hadn't left him to die until there was literally no chance of survival whatsoever.

Teeth sank into his shoulder once again, drawing blood, though he recognized the relative gentleness in the movement now. This creature could crush a skull with those teeth; what it was doing now was simply ensuring it didn't lose its grip.

"You will eventually choose death, little Sparrow." The cat paused for a moment to readjust its grip. "They all do eventually, even those who learn that I cannot choose it for them."

There was no warning before he was dragged through the window again, cold flames enveloping his body. On top of everything else, it was far more than body or mind was willing to handle, and he welcomed the numb solace of unconsciousness.

Greeting yet another new nightmare world could wait for a time when he could actually see it.


	11. Chapter 10: Cold Hand of Hope

** Disclaimer: **No, really, not mine, or this Study Abroad trip I'm heading for wouldn't be breaking the bank.**  
**

**Protetector of Life**

**Part 10**

_It was cold, so bloody cold, freezing, burning, and he was shivering, driving razor-pointed teeth further into his shoulder._

"_Damn you, Sparrow." There was agony in the creature's voice, pure, undiluted and unhidden. "Hold still."_

_He couldn't. Much as he'd love to stop injuring himself more, his body had other plans at the moment._

"_Where…" He struggled to open his eyes, found only a swirling, tumultuous sensation of movement in place of sight and decided that had been a bad idea._

"_Between. Try not to… think on it too… much."_

_The force biting into his shoulder redoubled, earning a brief cry of pain that distorted, changed, came back to him as light and color._

"_Didn' take this long… before."_

"_Further." A mewl of pain broke through the great cat's answer. "Maybe… too far… so many doors…"_

_Even as the cat spoke, Jack could see them, twisting, turning; not even doors, but passageways, possibilities, probabilities… It was exhilarating, terrifying, breath-taking, above all senses-shattering._

_It was almost certainly why he didn't hear the jaguar's cry of mingled despair and satisfaction._

_He checked both pistols to ensure that they were clean, loaded, and in perfect working order before slipping them into his belt, one for each hand. They wouldn't be able to do much, not at first, not until he pinned the bastard down and cut him, forced the metal into the wound to find the blood that sat still inside, never moving._

_It would move tonight. A hell of a lot of blood would move tonight._

_Turner's boy had dropped his coin and fled from the whole sordid affair three years ago, looking back twice, the first time with fear, the second with compassion. At least he had the presence of mind not to wish him luck._

"_You're goin' to get yourself killed." The words were spoken in a normal conversational tone, not an accusation, but he could still sense the fear behind them._

_He didn't turn to see if the fear was present in her face, as well. He'd rather not know._

"_What makes you think that, love?" He pulled his sword from its sheath, turned it to the light, ensuring that the razor-thin edge he had placed there two hours ago hadn't somehow managed to vanish into thin air._

"_The fact that he's undead and you're not might have something to do with it."_

"_Just a temporary state of affairs."_

"_You've been chasing him for three years. You've been riding him so hard he decided he'd rather stay cursed than end up permanently dead immediately after being freed." Voice falling to a whisper, she moved closer to him, one hand reaching out to tentatively touch his shoulder. "I just want you to remember that you've still got something to live for, even once this is done. That things can go back to what they were… before."_

"_Can they, love? Can they really?" Grinning, laughing, though not from mirth, he turned to face his first mate. "My ship's gone. Don't go tryin' to tell me the _Interceptor_ can be just as good, either. She's pretty, but she'll never be the _Pearl. _I've got a half-crew of real cutthroats. I've killed men in cold blood to get to this point. Nothing's going to undo this."_

"_Dying isn't going to undo it, either." The desperation in her voice, on her face, in her grip hit him like a tidal wave, but he let it flow past._

_She didn't really know everything he'd done to drag the chase to this point. If she did, she wouldn't be quite so desperate to keep him._

"_I'm going to kill Barbossa before I ever rest. This is my chance. Nothing you can say is going to change my mind about this." He softened his tone, his voice, calculating exactly how much he had to give to get her to back off._

_The blow was close-fisted, and it drew blood._

"_Nice, love." He dabbed at the blood running sluggishly from his upper lip and nose. "Didn't think you'd do that."_

"_Don't patronize me, Jack Sparrow." Sheer rage was all he could see on her face now, but he knew it still stemmed from desperation._

_Gibbs had been easier. He had simply nodded, clapped him on the back, downed a shot and said he hoped to hell Jack reached heaven before the devil knew he was dead._

"_Please. Just… promise that you'll try to get out of there alive. That's all I ask."_

_That was it? That simple? Damn, but the woman was being dense if she thought a vow would stop him now._

"_I promise." The words didn't catch in his throat, didn't sear his mind as they once would, and he knew beyond a doubt that he'd managed to kill the man she really wanted back._

"_You mean that, Jack Sparrow?" The faintest of hope shone from her eyes, sitting alongside the deepest suspicion. "You mean you'll try to get out of there alive?"_

"_I mean it." He pulled her down onto his lap and stole a brief kiss. God, but this was easy. "I'll try to get out of there alive."_

_She didn't say anything after that, just disentangled herself and left. She turned back once, opened her mouth as if to speak, closed it again with a faint grimace of distaste and closed the door._

_It wasn't really a lie. If he could get out of there alive, he would._

_But he couldn't. Lady Luck would have to be rolling sevens on a six-sided die for him to get out of there alive._

_Before dawn broke, he'd be with his dark lady again._

_He was yowling, howling, and he couldn't stop himself. It was unbecoming for one of his stature. Even the mortal ones who shared his form didn't howl their grief to the sky. That was for the wild, slinking canids of the north… for the brutal beasts that the enemy brought with them, set upon his people…_

_Not his people. Not anymore._

_His tongue rasped over the jagged holes in his charge's chest, though the blood and powder had long since been washed away by similar ministrations. One paw gently, almost reverently nudged the prone man's face, urging him to wake, to move._

_He wouldn't. He couldn't. He had been dead for almost half a day now._

_Another cry tore itself from his body as he crouched down, panting, over the man. Predators had been drawn by the sweet, cloying scent of fresh meat, but he chased them away, his sheer size and ferocity and apparent madness causing them to turn tail and run before he even reached them._

_It was good that they ran. Good that they hadn't yet worked up the courage to swat at him and thus discover his inability to even touch them. He had been bound to the idol and the man for too long, far too long, and his connection to the world beyond them had faded almost to the point of non-existence._

_Soon, even those creatures who saw him now, those pure and untouched by the madness of the humans who shared their realm, would sense him as little more than a ghost._

"_Little one."_

_The voice was gentleness, kindness personified, but he responded to it with the coughing roar of his earth-bound brethren._

_She was responsible for this. She was the reason his mind was tainted, touched and troubled by these twisted reactions._

"_I am so, so sorry, little one." One hand was stretched toward him, steady, not trembling a bit despite the grief that was etched into her face._

_He was trembling. He was shaking, shivering, shuddering, and he hated the feel of it, hated the fact that he couldn't stop it._

"_Please, young one. Come home with us."_

"_Home?" The word was a low growl, barely recognizable for the tongue it was. "Do you truly think my home still lies with you?"_

"_It does. It always has, and always shall." The woman's hand dropped to her side. "We would welcome you. Your brothers and sisters have missed you greatly."_

"_I am bound to this, or have you forgotten?" One paw snagged the idol where it lay on the man's still chest, lifted it into the air without snapping the chain._

"_The bonds we have wrought are weakening, and you were as much bound to him as to the metal now. If you wish to return with me, you can."_

"_They betrayed him." His voice shook with suppressed rage as he crouched down again over his charge, one paw resting protectively, proprietarily on the man's chest. "They sold him out to the invaders for a few false promises and perverse creatures."_

"_They are afraid." With a heaviness of action and step that he had never seen before, the woman settled to the jungle floor, legs crossed beneath her. "Our people are dying. They have been dying for a very long time, but only now do they recognize their trouble."_

"_Not our people. Not my people." A long, low hiss accented the last word._

"_Your people." There was actual harshness in her tone and face now, something he had rarely elicited from her. "They gave you life, they give you power."_

"_He was my people. You are my people. He gave me purpose. You gave me the strength to fulfill my mission. And now I have failed… though I gave all I could, I failed…"_

_Despair threatened to overwhelm him, but he pushed it aside, searching for another option. It was easy to think, with his lady beside him, life-giver, lord of the mind. Her power flowed into him again, heady, exhilarating… and he realized what he could do._

"_Little one… that is not the answer…"_

_He ignored her, sinking his teeth into his charge's—his friend's—shoulder, struggling not to cry out again as the snap of bone reached his tender ears. He had not been cautious enough, gentle enough to account for his human's weakness._

_A vicious swipe of his claws tore a window through the air, and the trembling became even more pronounced as exhaustion added itself to his other problems. He had reached almost too far this time, though it was less than he had done before. Such things mattered little now, though. He would see his priest interred properly, by his own people… and then he would see the ones who had caused this pay. All of them._

"_Blood is not the answer."_

"_Blood is always the answer." He shifted his grip on his burden, not turning to look at the woman. "I will not betray you, my lady. I will not break your word."_

"_You will do this, no matter what I say." She turned her face from him, resigned. "Mayhap I should have left you to Itzamna's care. He knows your kind far better than I."_

"_I will _not _betray you, Mother."_

_He was silent then, merely dragging the body through the window._

_After all, there was nothing more to say._

"Temp 95.6, BP at 90/50 and dropping… multiple lacerations to the right arm and leg, as well as a GS to the upper chest, means we'll have to call in the cops…"

The voice was a woman's, but it was firm, steady, like Ana-Maria's. It was the perfect match for the lightly calloused hands roving across his body, skipping over injuries with a practiced ease.

"God, look at this guy's clothes... that gun. There some kind of ren fair in town?"

"Doesn't matter right about now, Danny. Let's get this guy started on an O- drip, see if we can clean him up, get him stable for surgery."

Light suddenly exploded in front of him as someone pried one of his eyes open, a light that was far too steady to be a lantern, far too subdued to be the sun. He instinctively flinched away, blinking in an effort to bring something into a more coherent form than colored blobs.

"Pupils dilated but with some responsiveness to light." The same hands firmly moved his head back to where it had been as an unfocused face slid into view. "Sir, can you hear me? Do you have any medical allergies or conditions we need to be made aware of?"

Other than the obvious ones like multiple sword wounds and a shot in his chest _again_, not really. He tried to decide whether speaking or moving was more likely to hurt more, given that breathing was still painful.

A weight he hadn't been aware of was removed from his chest, the drag of a silver chain over his skin making it painfully obvious what the object was.

"No." He tried to shout and lunge for the idol, but it was more a pathetic squirm. Still, it caught the woman's attention.

"Sir, we're not going to keep it. It will be placed with your other effects and returned at discharge."

"No." He shook his head frantically, trying to emphasize the too-weak word. He was having a hard enough time of things as was; taking the idol God-knew-how-far from him, after the cat had apparently made a very specific point of placing it with him… he'd really rather not see what that would do to him. How to make these people see it, though… "Religious. Please. I need…"

A flicker of understanding and compassion flashed across the woman's face, and she hesitated.

"Please. Religious."

"Danny, scrub it down and put it in his left hand. Will that be sufficient?"

The pirate nodded gratefully, eyes slitting as the adrenaline surge that had given him the strength to even attempt movement faded. "Thank you."

Someone touched the still-throbbing hole in his chest where the shot had struck home, and darkness washed over his vision yet again.

_The first thing he was aware of was that he felt significantly better than the last few times he woke up. In fact, the only thing that hurt was his left shoulder._

_Opening his eyes tentatively, he found himself nose-to-nose with the jaguar. Biting back a curse, he staggered up from his position on the vegetation-strewn floor, never moving his gaze from the cat._

_The fact that the cat was apparently comatose made no difference as to his analysis of its threat level._

"_Yes, he is quite the dangerous young thing, isn't he?"_

_The woman looked as though she had always been sitting there, running one hand down the silky fur, caressing between the creature's eyes, but he was certain she hadn't been there when he woke._

"_I was here. Wherever he is, a portion of me will always be." She didn't stop her stroking of the great cat as she raised her eyes to meet his._

_They were gorgeous eyes, of a hue he had never seen before, a rich brown that somehow seemed to borrow from other colors. He had never seen anything like them before. As was to be expected, of course, from a god._

"_I thank you for the compliment, brave little bird, and commend you on your deductive skills." A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, causing small wrinkles to appear at the corner of her eyes, and Jack upped his estimate of her form's age by a few years._

"_It doesn't take much intelligence to figure out that it takes a god to appear and disappear at will… or that you're probably the 'lady' he refuses to betray." Jack bowed slightly, hands together. "For that, I am inde—I thank you."_

"_A nice save, Jack Sparrow. Never tell a god that you are indebted to them. You never know when they might call in the favor." The smile faded as she dropped her eyes to the jaguar prone on the ground before her. "I give you points for intelligence because you are not panicking. You are not attempting to say that this cannot be happening. You are not trying to call on one of your gods in my realm."_

"_Well, y'see, I kind of try to avoid messing about in the whole god business to begin with. Causes nothing but grief, I think."_

"_And yet you have seen the power of many gods in your time, been involved in many of their plans. A most curious thing."_

_Curious was one way to put it; frustrating and annoying was another._

_The woman began to laugh, the sound rich and lilting, though a hint of sorrow still lay beneath it. "Ah, if more of the world felt as you did, I feel we would have much less to do."_

"_You can read minds." It was a statement of fact, nothing more._

"_Yes. The mind is my realm." Her return was equally steadfast, a simple assertion of truth._

"_So how are you able to—"_

"_Though he gives me the credit, much of the power comes from him. I was always able to see the different paths that might be taken, as were those loyal to me; some could even walk a different path in dreams. To physically cross that boundary, though… one with a strong will and power of his own had to be bound to me."_

_Memory stirred to sluggish life as he continued to meet the woman's gaze. "You're Alaghom Naom. One of the mother goddesses, responsible for creativity and intellect. But you were one of the—"_

"_Lesser gods? Perhaps. You, of all people, should know the power of the mind, Sparrow."_

"_I meant no disrespect." He hadn't, either. He had been more thinking out loud than actually speaking to the woman._

"_No. Not at the moment. You are too busy attempting to find a way to reclaim your life to actively seek to offend potential allies." There was gentle chiding and a calm acceptance mixed in her voice, rather than the cold fury that had filled Billy's as he made the same—accurate—claim._

"_Your pet did invade my mind, threaten my crew with bloody death, and me with insanity. I think a desire for escape is somewhat expected."_

"_Yes, you have more than a right to anger and a desire for escape. I would not try to argue that point." She stood abruptly, moving away from the prone cat and toward the pirate. "If you would truly seek escape, though, an effective escape, then listen to me. Several others have managed to get as far as you have. It speaks well to your character. All who came before have perished, though, and those around them by their hand."_

_Right. So it was going to be one of _those_ games, speaking enigmatically in circles around a very simple concept. "So tell me what to do."_

"_I will not tell you what to do, because I cannot. Not and save the godling who entrusted himself to my care." A bitter smile touched her mouth and was gone. "Yes, he is a god in his own right, or would have been. So very young, he was, and so very strong. Born on the same day as a talented young man who grew quickly to become a leader among our people. None could argue that it was fated they work together to attempt to heal the fractured nation."_

"_So you gave him some of your strength, your power to help him." Something was tugging stridently at the back of his mind, a memory, a recollection, but it felt… awkward, like it didn't belong._

"_While you were within the cold between worlds, you saw how that union ended… among other things." There was compassion in her eyes as she reached out one hand to touch him. "I will not tell you how to free yourself, because I am selfish and would use you to heal him."_

"_Heal him." It seemed every conversation he had had with the creature had ended in pain for him, and she wanted him to…_

"_Yes. If you can help him through the hate and horror and hurt that is the other side of loving a mortal, then you will have more than earned your freedom." Her hand trailed along the side of his face, into his hair, touching the trinkets that he had woven there throughout his life. "You are a good man. Not an honest man, not a lawful man, but a good man, and for the most part a content man. If you succeed, he will bring you home and I will tell you how to send _him_ home. If you do not… there are none in this world that you know, and thus none that it will truly hurt you to kill."_

_He almost argued, almost pointed out that the people here might be a tad bit upset about dying, but there was a hardness in the goddess's face that made him hold his tongue._

"_They are not my people, little bird. You are not my people. He is. Though I do not desire to see more blood shed, I would see all the world shaded in red before losing him." Turning away, she paced back to the cat and sank down beside him. "You will wake in an unfamiliar world. You will strive to do what I ask because you desire life. I am sorry if what happens causes you injury, and I hope that we meet again."_

_He didn't bother asking what it would mean if they didn't see each other again. It was far too obvious, as was the cold fury he felt towards the woman… a fury she would know he held._

_At least the cat was honest in its desire to inflict pain._

"_You think me cruel." Her eyes rose once more to meet his, her head cocked to the side as if she, too, were a cat. "You think I toy with you as he does. Perhaps it is cruel, but one thing my people have learned, very well, very quickly, is that if they do not stand beside each other as protectors, none will stand beside them. Even when they do, far too often it is too little, too late."_

"_If you can't help him, what makes you think I can?"_

"_Because you are mortal, and are thus born into the pain. Because to survive this long, you remind him of the one who came before. Because if I cannot help him, and none that he chooses can help him, I have lost both of them for naught. So I do truly hope we will meet again, Sparrow, and even if it is a false hope… it is hope." For a moment longer she simply knelt at the side of the cat, and it was impossible to read all that flew across her face. "Now, Jack Sparrow… it is time for you to wake."_


	12. Chapter 11: Acclimatization

**Protector of Life**

**Part 11**

He woke to a world that felt far less real than the half-remembered dream he had been in. The light seemed muted, neither the heated glow of torches and candles nor the steady touch of the sun. It appeared to come from a softly humming oblong tube set into the ceiling, and he studied that for a few minutes, content to merely lie and bask in the fact that he was apparently alive against all odds.

Again.

Lady Luck was certainly fickle when it came to his wellbeing.

The light eventually lost his interest, the mysteries of its workings apparently unsolvable from a reclining position. The simplest answer to that problem appeared to be to stand.

Movement brought the reality of the world crashing down upon him. His chest burned and his arm began to ache and throb, the sudden movement of muscles apparently reminding his body that a conscious mind is one that can process pain. For a moment he thought he was going to solve about half of that problem, the world fading to a washed-out grey, then slipping to a pitch black where the steady buzzing of the light and the beeping of the metal… things he hadn't allowed himself to dwell on seemed to come from far away. The dizziness finally cleared, though, and he breathed a (_gentle_) sigh of relief, taking care not to move his right arm or call too heavily on his lungs.

So, he was still hurt. Not dying, but if he tried to do too much he'd probably wish he was… though not too strenuously. He didn't want Billy getting any ideas.

Thinking of the balaam cleared the rest of the cobwebs from his thoughts. There was something, in the dream… something he needed to remember, but the cursed cat wasn't supposed to see…

Shaking off the uneasy feeling, the pirate captain turned to a more serious assessment of his condition. If he stayed still, the pain receded to a level that was not only endurable but almost comfortable. His chest hurt, yes, but the pain was localized, not traveling along with blood-soaked foam from his lungs to his mouth as it had been before. Fantastic. His shoulder and arm still ached, but it was a bright, sharp pain, so at least he'd likely not be losing the use of them. Even the pain from his leg, whose earlier cries of woe had been drowned out by the others, was a good pain… insofar as pain could be good. Above the joint, and without the deep throb that usually denoted injury to the bone.

Workable, then. Not good, but infinitely workable.

Satisfied that nothing was going to suddenly fail should he attempt such strenuous activity as stretching, Jack turned his attention to the room at large. His peripheral vision had shown him glimpses of the metallic, bleeping creatures that surrounded the bed. Looking at them full-on failed to make them any more comprehensible. Most displayed a host of numbers, all glowing a happy green; some showed wavery lines, tracing a similar pattern over and over again, blipping contentedly to themselves.

All seemed to be attached to him in one way or another. With growing concern, Jack Sparrow allowed his eyes to trace some of the lines. One was connected to a small, hard-rubber object that was slipped over the index finger of his right hand. A handful of others traced from a machine with a happily-bouncing line to somewhere beneath the poorly-tailored nightgown the owners of this strange place had placed him in. One, a simple bag of liquids, led to a needle which has been inserted into his arm.

He almost ripped the offending piece of metal free with a snarl. Almost, but not quite, because he felt infinitely better than he by rights should, since he was certain that by rights he was a dead man when he came to this strange place. If they'd wanted to kill him all they had to do was sit back and watch him bleed. No, better to watch and not try his potential benefactors' patience by breaking their strange tools until he had a better idea of what was going on.

In his temporary panic over the needle, he had moved his left hand halfway across his body. Settling back down, he became uncomfortably aware of one heavy weight dangling from his wrist and another, far too warm one, suddenly lying across his lap.

Looking down, he found himself staring at a mouthful of very pointy teeth, the tongue poking out between them a blood-red that would shame any normal beast. A small yip of dismay escaped, and he started back, earning a wave of red-hot agony from his right arm. His left hand reached unconsciously for the offending region, dragging the amulet, chain looped firmly around his wrist, across his chest.

The great cat's head moved along with it.

Hissing between his teeth, Jack Sparrow grunted as the weight of the jaguar added an extra burden to his breathing.

"If you really don't want to kill me, mate, I'd suggest movin' your great big carcass."

The cat didn't respond, and the pirate frowned in consternation, raising his head to look again at the godling. Its cream-colored throat was turned upward, pink nose touched to the pendant, and he could see the movement of its throat as it breathed, the motions shallow but steady. He moved to turn its face downward, tentatively extending his left hand, wary of the creature's bite.

There was no independent movement from the jaguar, though, and his fingers danced lightly across its fur, pressing down on its nose until he could see its eyes. Closed, not tightly but with the loose certainty of unconsciousness.

"Doubt this was what you had in mind when you pulled your stunt." His fingers stroked through the fur, noting that it has fallen from its usually-meticulous condition. The fibers were still smooth as silk, though, the texture a far cry from anything a mortal beast would sport. "You'd make a gorgeous coat, Billy old mate."

The cat's weight was still an uncomfortable burden across his healing chest, and he gently pushed at the head with his left hand, not wanting to wake the creature. The beast didn't respond to the pressure, remaining stubbornly in place… until the pendant fell to the side.

The movement was sudden but smooth, perfectly controlled. Pink nose following the movement of the amulet, the cat's body poured behind it, a tawny waterfall. Moving the amulet more to the side moved the cat's body off him entirely. Dangling it over the side of the bed caused the creature to sink through the seemingly solid surface, maintaining its posture in relation to the metal.

"Huh. Jaguar on a string. Interesting."

By twisting, dragging and flipping the amulet, he was able to maneuver the great cat so it was resting mostly on the bed, as little of it floating in midair as possible. It was just bloody disconcerting for something he could touch, which seemed to have mass and substance, to be completely defying all known laws of the universe.

Never mind that it was apparently a godling. Some things just shouldn't happen.

Still, it was kind of fun to have control of the cat. Until it woke, he could do just about… well… anything to it. A mischievous grin spread across Sparrow's face.

"How much d'you like spinnin' in circles, Billy?"

"Sir? Are you all right?" The question was spoken softly, the voice behind it sounding well-cultured.

It took the pirate captain a moment to realize that the speaker was addressing him. Settling his pendant-heavy arm on the side of the bed as surreptitiously as he could, Jack turned his grin on the lad in the doorway. "Been a while since I've been called sir, son."

The young man didn't comment, though he did smile, the expression a bit strained. "It's good to see you're awake and coherent."

"Good to be awake. Was a while there I was wondering if I might not have pushed my luck a bit too far." He watched from beneath the lad's arm as he checked the numbers on the various machines around the bed, making notes in a chart.

Wherever, whenever they were, fashion sense for servants certainly hadn't improved. The lad's clothing seemed to consist of a single layer, an undershirt and trousers that should probably have been returned to the dyers for another round of coloring. No one could possibly _desire_ to clothe their servants in something that looked like a sack and had the same coloration as a pile of rotting grass.

Then again, thinking back on some of the noblemen he had known, maybe they could.

"You were lucky. Had a good ER team." Apparently satisfied with what the numbers were telling him, the young man turned his full attention on the pirate captain. "How much do you remember?"

"Depends on what you're asking me to remember." Jack grinned at the young man, sinking further down in the bed, making himself look as helpless as he possibly could. "Though I do remember a rather fetching young lady who allowed me to keep my amulet. Pass along my thanks."

"Yeah, no problem." Boredom colors the young man's voice, boredom and a determined stoicism to see a hard job through. "Now, I'm going to just look you over, then I'll fetch the doc, have her come in and explain your condition and what they did. After that, cops have a few questions they'd like answered, as well."

The last bit was said in a tone that mixed grudging respect with resentment. It was a voice he had heard many times before, and he had a sinking suspicion about who these 'cops' were. "Is that really necessary?"

"You came in with a GS—gunshot wound. Cops've already been all over you, you just weren't with it enough to notice. You're a bit old to be running with a gang, y'know."

"Gang?" The boy's lexicon again danced maddeningly on the verge of comprehension.

"Oh, come on. You come in all cut up and shot up, have other people's blood on you, too… had to be a gang fight. What happened, rest of the crew bale on you? Usually if there's a bad rumble we've got at least a half dozen, sometimes two dozen in the ER." The boy gesticulated as he spoke, but there was a slightly self-conscious air to both gestures and words.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." And neither did the boy, not really, not if his body language was anything to go by. Still, it was going to be difficult if whoever served as the harbingers of Law and Order in this strange land began speaking in riddles, as well.

"Yeah, well, best start coming up with some kind of story then." A faint blush rose to the young man's face, an embarrassed flush tinged with disgust and resentment. "Right, questions first. What's your name?"

He briefly considered the merits of lying versus telling the truth. Lying would mean they knew less about him, always a good thing. Unfortunately, given the strangeness of this world, it would be incredibly easy for him to talk himself into a corner without even knowing it. The likelihood that he would always respond to a pseudonym, given his current condition, was only about fair.

So, best of both worlds… a bit of truth and a bit of lie.

"Jack." He smiled, thinking of a certain lad and lass who would be either amused or exasperated or most likely a combination of both if they were to hear him. "Jack Turner."

"Uh-huh." The boy nodded, adding additional marks to the chart he still hadn't put down. "Address?"

"No address, mate. Or at least, no permanent one." He shrugged, careful to make it a small movement with only his left shoulder, at the boy's frustrated expression. "I've worked a few dozen ships in my time. Not sure where the last one is at the moment."

"Are you an American citizen?"

The pirate managed to keep his jaw from hitting his chest, but only just barely. An _American_ citizen? What in the name of all the deities out there who didn't want him cursed or dead did _that_ mean? "Could you clarify a bit, son? North or south?"

If the boy had rolled his eyes any further back in their sockets, they probably would have fallen out. "You're a damn Canadian, aren't you? Always going on about how both continents are America and not just the US should call themselves Americans and really, it's just ridiculous, I mean—"

"Spanish by birth, man of the sea by choice. I just work merchant vessels, no privateers or any such like, so no matter which side of whichever war you're on, I won't be worth too much." The words came out in a slightly desperate stream, the pirate captain willing to do anything to cut off the young man's political diatribe.

The young man who was now staring at him as though he had grown an extra head. "You're not one of those insane historical reproductionist people, are you?"

"I'm just an honest sailor, mate, who'd like to get out of this, quick as possible." The words were mostly truth, and Jack was dismayed to hear a hint of desperation in them. Just a hint, and the young man before him seemed too dense to pick up on it, but the fact that it was there to be heard at all was bad.

"Well, you seem to be doing well. Dr. Kele will be by shortly, like I said before. Last question, the one people always dread most. Do you have insurance?"

Jack Sparrow stared at the young man. The young man stared back at him. No further information or clarification seemed to be forthcoming.

"No?" This was a fair guess, considering he didn't even know what the lad was talking about.

"No, or no, you don't want to tell me?" A wry, disdainful smile twisted at the young man's mouth, and if he wasn't fairly certain it would hurt like hell Jack Sparrow would have been up and slapping it off the boy's face before two seconds had passed.

It had been ages since he had felt so lost. He almost wished the balaam would wake. Even if it was being smug, disdainful and patronizing, at least it did so in a completely comprehensible way.

That, and there was something about gods and godlings that made condescension a bit less personal. The balaam would undoubtedly have treated the King of England with the exact same regard it had treated Captain Jack Sparrow, pirate extraordinaire.

"No, I don't have insurance. That going to be a problem? Because really, if it is, all you've got to do is present me with me effects, point me in the right direction, and I'll be a-totterin' away from here faster'n you can say Captain Jack S—Turner."

"Minor problems with that being that the cops have your _effects_ and I'd be amazed if you could totter to the _john_, let alone to a _ship_. So I'd suggest just cooling your heels." The ruddy annoying man sighed, digging up a sickly-sweet smile. "As for insurance, while it is preferred, of course, Boston—"

"_Boston?_ The _American_ Boston? The little hyper-religious—"

"Boston Medical Center's mission is to see to it that all citizens from all walks of life are provided with the utmost in care. A payment plan will undoubtedly be worked out upon your discharge."

The false smile fell away before a true grin, one that the pirate captain didn't much like the looks of.

"Until then, I'm sure you'll have a ball with the students."

It was some time later that a woman, dressed smartly in a white coat and trousers that certainly didn't seem to have been tailored to fit a man, slipped in the door. Her skin was darker than the boy's had been, the ruddy brown that he had always associated with the natives.

Coming hard on the heels of everything else, neither her dress nor the fact that she was apparently in a position with some authority came as a surprise.

"Mr. Turner, I presume?" She didn't bother to ask for admittance, but the smile she presented was friendly, as was the hand she extended. "You've been quite the talk of the town, you know."

"Really?" He smiled back at her, though he didn't take her hand, instead allowing his left hand to remain buried in Billy's silk-slick fur. He could almost have believed the cat shifted slightly; he didn't want to miss any other signs of returning consciousness. "I didn't think I'd done anything that memorable. Not yet. I usually remember when I do memorable things. It's usually when I'm on my way out of wherever I am, not on the way in."

There was the muffled sound of laughter from the hallway, followed by a sharp gasp of slightly pained repression. Someone was definitely listening to their conversation.

"Well, I don't know, something about a strange man in exotic getup suddenly appearing outside the doors to the ER—just as a strange surge makes all the cameras on that half of the building come up with static for thirty seconds—and sporting a half-dozen wounds from ancient weapons… In the last week I've heard that you're an alien, a time-traveler, and my personal favorite, part of a reality TV show gone horribly wrong." The smile she wore grew, as though her statement had been humorous.

Figuring that when in Rome do what the Romans do, even if it seemed incredibly stupid, the pirate captain returned the grin. There were humorous things about this place, all right, though they didn't quite include what she thought they did.

"Now, Mr. Turner—"

"Jack, if you please." Hearing himself called by Bill or Will's name was starting to grate. It would certainly get his attention, though, which was all a pseudonym had to do.

"All right, Jack. You may have heard that the Medical Center is a teaching hospital. Correct?" She waited for his nod before continuing. "Now, what this means is that we take students from the University—Boston University, that is—and we have them follow us on rounds. This gives them a more first-hand view of how the field works, and gives us a chance to tell if they really know gastritis from glossitis. Now, several of them got to oversee you in the ER, during surgery, and as part of the previous follow-ups. Would you mind if they tagged along for this one?"

"Not at all. Bring the little buggers in." The more he could see of this world, the better equipped he would be to survive in it until he could wake his transportation back up.

The 'little buggers' were actually full-grown men and women, people who would have long been doctors or nursemaids (or witch-women) in his own world. Then again, most doctors from his own time probably wouldn't have understood half of what was coming out of their mouths. He understood the Latin bases of about half their strange words, but that didn't make things all that much clearer. It was a bit comforting that the old nag of a language was still limping around even in this time and world, though.

And hell, Ana-Maria would be pleased to hear there was a place where women stood easily with men, in male clothes, and did the same work.

Would be pleased to hear if he ever got back to tell her, that was.

His hand clenched tight in the jaguar's fur, but the female doctor was urging him to sit up and lower his nightshirt, obviously in preparation for prying at the bandage on his right shoulder and chest, so she would likely think it a fist of pain. Still, he had best be cautious about letting his reactions show so plainly. It wouldn't do to raise more questions with these people, and it certainly wouldn't do to get into the habit when Billy might be waking up at any moment to see.

The adhesive substance they had used to attach the bandages to his skin came free relatively easily, though they pulled a bit at the small hairs. It intensified the ache from the injuries, though not by too much, a fact for which he was grateful. Craning his neck up and his head to the side, he got a decent look at the injuries. Most were healing nicely, already covered by thick scabs, no hint of the black rot that could eat a man from the inside out showing.

He could tell by the look on the doctor's face that she wasn't pleased with what she saw, though, and a second examination showed why.

A circle of puncture wounds wrapped around his shoulder, starting dangerously close to his neck, dipping below his collarbone, finally trailing back up around his bicep and disappearing onto his back. Where the other injuries were obviously healing nicely, these seemed fresh, as though they had just happened. One was already dribbling blood again, a thin stream trickling across his chest.

Gently settling the bandage back in place, the doctor gave him a smile which almost managed to hide her concern. "I'll have someone in to replace these ASAP. Everything looks fairly good, though. No sign of infection. You should be good as new before you know it."

Except for where the little godling had bitten him, but she didn't know that, and he certainly wasn't going to explain it. Damn the beast, it managed to hurt him even when it was saving his life.

She waited, obviously looking for him to nod in understanding and encouragement before she turned her attention back to the students. He did as expected, favoring her with a gold-laced smile as he unconsciously moved his left hand up, a unintentional move to protect the damaged tissue. The motion dragged the cat up onto his chest again, earning a startled gasp. Whirling about in concern, the female doctor moved to grab his hand, lips already forming what would either be a concerned question or a sharp reprimand. Possibly both.

He knew the moment her hand touched the great cat, and not just because the words died in her throat, her eyes taking on the glassy, fixated stare of the terrified and the dying.

It was the moment the great cat woke.


End file.
